Imagens da página


Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,
So far, so near in woe and weal;
O loved the most, when most I feel
There is a lower and a higher;

Known and unknown; human, divine;

Sweet human hand and lips and eye; Dear heavenly friend that canst not die, Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine;

Strange friend, past, present, and to be;
Loved deeplier, darklier understood;
Behold, I dream a dream of good,
And mingle all the world with thee.


Thy voice is on the rolling air;

I hear thee where the waters run; Thou standest in the rising sun, And in the setting thou art fair.

What art thou then? I cannot guess;
But tho' I seem in star and flower
To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less:

My love involves the love before;

My love is vaster passion now;
Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou,

I seem to love thee more and more.

Far off thou art, but ever nigh;

I have thee still, and I rejoice;
I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.


O living will that shalt endure

When all that seems shall suffer shock,

Rise in the spiritual rock,

Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure,

That we may lift from out of dust

A voice as unto him that hears,
A cry above the conquer'd years
To one that with us works, and trust,
With faith that comes of self-control,

The truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved,
And all we flow from, soul in soul.

["The Keepsake" 1851.]

COME not, when I am dead,

To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head,

And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by.

Child, if it were thine error or thy crime
I care no longer, being all unblest:

Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time,
And I desire to rest.

Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie:
Go by, go by.

MAUD (1855).



COME into the garden, Maud,

For the black bat, night, has flown,

Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown.


For a breeze of morning moves,

And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky,

To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light, and to die.


All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;

All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.


I said to the lily, "There is but one

With whom she has heart to be gay.
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.


I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," so I sware to the rose, "For ever and ever, mine."


And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall;

And long by the garden lake I stood,

For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all;


From the meadow your walks have left so sweet That whenever a March-wind sighs

He sets the jewel-print of your feet

In violets blue as your eyes,

To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.


The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; But the rose was awake all night for your sake, Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake,

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.


Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.


There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;"
And the lily whispers, "I wait."


She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,

Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.


[Mit geringen Abweichungen bereits 1837 gedruckt in "The Tribute. A Collection of... Poems. Edited by Lord Northampton" u. d. T.



O THAT 'twere possible

After long grief and pain

To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!


When I was wont to meet her
In the silent woody places
By the home that gave me birth,
We stood tranced in long embraces

« AnteriorContinuar »