With jagged leaves, and from the forest tops
Singing the winds to sleep-or weeping oft
Fast showers of aerial water drops

Into their mother's bosom, sweet and soft,
Nature's pure tears which have no bitterness ;-
Around the cradles of the birds aloft

They spread themselves into the loveliness
Of fan-like leaves, and over palid flowers

Hang like moist clouds:-or, where high branches kiss,

Make a green space among the silent bowers,

Like a vast fane in a metropolis,

Surrounded by the columns and the towers

All overwrought with branch-like traceries
In which there is religion-and the mute
Persuasion of unkindled melodies,

Odours and gleams and murmurs, which the lute
Of the blind pilot-spirit of the blast

Stirs as it sails, now grave and now acute,

Wakening the leaves and waves ere it has past

To such brief unison as on the brain

One tone, which never can recur, has cast,

One accent never to return again.

TO THE MOON.

ART thou pale for weariness

Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless

Among the stars that have a different birth,

And ever changing, like a joyless eye

That finds no object worth its constancy?

SONG FOR TASSO.

I LOVED-alas! our life is love;

But when we cease to breathe and move I do suppose love ceases too.

I thought, but not as now I do,

Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore,
Of all that men had thought before,
And all that nature shows, and more.

And still I love and still I think,

But strangely, for my heart can drink
The dregs of such despair, and live,
And love; [

And if I think, my thoughts come fast,

I mix the present with the past,

And each seems uglier than the last.

Sometimes I see before me flee

A silver spirit's form, like thee,

O Leonora, and I sit

[

] still watching it,

Till by the grated casement's ledge
It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge

Breathes o'er the breezy streamlet's edge.

THE WANING MOON.

AND like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapt in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky earth,
A white and shapeless mass.

EPITAPH.

THESE are two friends whose lives were undivided, So let their memory be, now they have glided Under the grave; let not their bones be parted, For their two hearts in life were single hearted.