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Long alleys falling down to twilight |
MYSTERY of mysteries,
Faintly smiling Adeline, Whither in after life retired
Scarce of earth nor all divine, From brawling storms,
Nor unhappy, nor at rest, From weary wind,
But beyond expression fair With youthful fancy reinspired,
With thy floating flaxen hair; We may hold converse with all forms | Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Of the many-sided mind,
Take the heart from out my breast. And those whom passion hath not blinded, Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded.
Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ?
Like a lily which the sun
Looks thro' in his sad decline,
And a rose-bush leans upon,
As a Naiad in a well,
Looking at the set of day,
Or a phantom two hours old
Of a maiden past away,
Ere the placid lips be cold ?
To himself he talks ;
Who talketh with thee, Adeline ?
For sure thou art not all alone : Earthward he boweth the heavy Do beating hearts of salient springs stalks
Keep measure with thine own? Of the mouldering flowers :
Hast thou heard the butterflies
Over its grave i' the earth sochilly; Or in stillest evenings
To his heart the silver dews?
Or when little airs arise,
How the merry bluebell rings
To the mosses underneath ?
| Wherefore that faint smile of thine, An hour before death;
Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? oly very heart faints and my whole soul
grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, leaves,
Some spirit of a crimson rose
In love with thee forgets to close
| All night long on darkness blind. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower What aileth thee? whom waitest thou
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; With thy soften’d, shadow'd brow,
And those dew-lit eyes of thine,
Thou faint smiler, Adeline ?
| The poet in a golden clime was born, Doth the low-tongued Orient
With golden stars above;
| Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn Dripping with Sabæan spice
of scorn, On thy pillow, lowly bent
The love of love.
He saw thro' life and death, thro' good While his locks a-drooping twined
and ill, Round thy neck in subtle ring
He saw thro' his own soul.
The marvel of the everlasting will,
An open scroll,
| Before him lay: with echoing feet he Hence that look and smile of thine,
The secretest walks of fame :
The viewless arrows of his thoughts were
And wing'd with flame,
Like Indian reeds blown from his silver With a half-glance upon the sky
tongue, At night he said, “The wanderings
And of so fierce a flight, Of this most intricate Universe
From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, Teach me the nothingness of things."
Filling with light
And vagrant melodies the winds which
bore He spake of beauty : that the dull
Them earthward till they lit; Saw no divinity in grass,
Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field Life in dead stones, or spirit in air ;
flower, Then looking as 't were in a glass,
The fruitful wit He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair, And said the earth was beautiful. | Cleaving, took root, and springing forth
anew fle spake of virtue : not the gods
Where'er they fell, behold,
Like to the mother plant in semblance, More purely, when they wish to charm Pallas and Juno sitting by :
grew And with a sweeping of the arm,
A flower all gold,
And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling
The winged shafts of truth,
To throng with stately blooms the breathMost delicately hour by hour
ing spring He canvass'd human mysteries,
Of Hope and Youth.
So many minds did gird their orbs with And stood aloof from other minds
beams, In impotence of fancied power.
Tho' one did fling the fire.
Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many With lips depress'd as he were meek,
dreams Himself unto himself he sold :
Of high desire. Upon himself himself did feed : Quiet, dispassionate, and cold, | Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the And other than his form of creed, With chisell’d features clear and sleek. I Like one great garden show'd,
And thro' the wreaths of floating dark | In your eye there is death,
There is frost in your breath
Which would blight the plants.
Where you stand you cannot hear And Freedom rear'd in that august sun
From the groves within
The wild-bird's din.
| In the heart of the garden the merry When rites and forms before his burning
bird chants, eyes
It would fall to the ground if you came in. Melted like snow.
In the middle leaps a fountain
Like sheet lightning, There was no blood upon hermaiden robes Ever brightening Sunn'd by those orient skies;
With a low melodious thunder ; But round about the circles of the globes All day and all night it is ever drawn Of her keen eyes
From the brain of the purple mountain
Which stands in the distance yonder : And in her raiment's hem was traced in It springs on a level of bowery lawn, flame
And the mountain draws it from Heaven WISDOM, a name to shake
above, All evil dreams of power- a sacred name. And it sings a song of undying love ; And when she spake,
And yet, tho'its voice be so clear and full,
You never would hear it ; your ears are Her words did gather thunder as they
so dull ; ran,
So keep where you are : you are foul with And as the lightning to the thunder
sin ; Which follows it, riving the spirit of man, It would shrink to the earth if you came
Making earth wonder, So was their meaning to her words. No sword
THE SEA-FAIRIES. Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, But one poor poet's scroll, and with his Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw, word
Betwixt the green brink and the runShe shook the world.
ning foam, Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms
THE POET'S MIND.
To little harps of gold; and while they
mused, Whispering to each other half in fear,
Shrill music reach'd them on the middle Vex not thou the poet's mind
sea. With thy shallow wit : Vex not thou the poet's mind ;
Whither away, whither away, whither For thou canst not fathom it.
away? fly no more. Clear and bright it should be ever, Whither away from the high green field, Flowing like a crystal river;
and the happy blossoming shore ? Bright as light, and clear as wind.
Day and night to the billow the fountain
Down shower the gambolling waterfalls Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear ; From wandering over the lea : All the place is holy ground;
Out of the live-green heart of the dells Hollow smile and frozen sneer
They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, Come not here.
And thick with white bells the clover-hill Holy water will I pour
swells Into every spicy flower
High over the full-toned sea : Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around. O hither, come hither and furl your sails The flowers would faintat your cruel cheer. I Come hither to me and to mo:
Hither, come hither and frolic and play ; 10 listen, listen, your eyos shall glisten Here it is only the mew that wails; When the sharp clear twang of the golden We will sing to you all the day :
chords Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, Runs up the ridged sea. For here are the blissful downs and dales, Who can light on as happy a shore And merrily, merrily carol the gales, All the world o'er, all the world o'er ? And the spangle dances in bight and Whither away ? listen and stay: mariner, bay,
mariner, fly no more. And the rainbow forms and flies on the
land Over the islands free ;
THE DESERTED HOUSE. And the rainbow lives in the curve of
the sand ; Hither, come hither and see ; And the rainbow hangs on the poising LIFE a
he poising | Life and Thought have gone away wave,
Side by side, And sweet is the color of cove and cave, Leaving door and windows wide : And sweet shall your welcome be :
| Careless tenants they ! O hither, come hither, and be our lords, For merry brides are we :
In the windows is no light;
Prevailingin weakness, the coronach stolo Close the door, the shutters close,
Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
But anon her awful jubilant voice,
With a music strange and manifold, Of the dark deserted house.
Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold :
As when a mighty people rejoice
With shawms, and with cymbals, and
harps of gold, Come away: no more of mirth
And the tumult of their acclaim is rollid Is here or merry-making sound.
Thro' the open gates of the city afar, The house was builded of the earth,
Totheshepherd who watcheth the evening And shall fall again to ground.
And the creeping mosses and clambering v.
weeds, Come away : for Life and Thought
And the willow-branches hoar and dank, Here no longer dwell ;
And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, But in a city glorious —
And the wave-worn horns of the echoing A great and distant city — have bought
bank, A mansion incorruptible.
And the silvery marish-flowers that throng Would they could have stayed with The desolate creeks and pools ainong, us !
| Were flooded over with eddying song.