Where thirsting longing eyes Watch the slow door

Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise,

a dream; b

Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright 4

As sunlight on a stream; b

Come back in tears,

O memory, hope, love of finished

years,

O dream how sweet, too sweet, too

Will bring another Spring both lost

and dear;

If heart and spirit will find out their

Spring,

Or if the world alone will bud and

sing:

Sing, hope, to me;

Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.

bitter sweet,^^

been in Paradise,

and meet; .

late,

mate;

warmth and bloom,

Or in this world or in the world to

come :

Sing, voice of Spring,

Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.

1 March 1855.

MY DREAM

HEAR now a curious dream I dreamed last night,

Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.

I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled

Like overflowing Jordan in its youth. It waxed and coloured sensibly to sight;

Till out of myriad pregnant waves

there welled

Young crocodiles, a gaunt bluntfeatured crew, Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew.

The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend,

My closest friend, would deem the

facts untrue;

And therefore it were wisely left untold;

Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end.

Each crocodile was girt with massive gold

And polished stones that with their

wearers grew:

But one there was who waxed be

yond the rest,

Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown,

starred his breast.

All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale,

But special burnishment adorned his mail

And special terror weighed upon his frown;

His punier brethren quaked before his tail,

Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail. So he grew lord and master of his kin :

But who shall tell the tale of all their woes?

An execrable appetite arose,

He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in.

He knew no law, he feared no binding law,

But ground them with inexorable jaw.

The luscious fat distilled upon his chin,

Exuded from his nostrils and his

If I remember her, no need
Of formal tokens set;
Of hollow token-lies indeed
No need, if I forget.
23 March 1855.

I HAVE A MESSAGE UNTO
THEE

(WRITTEN IN SICKNESS)
GREEN sprout the grasses,
Red blooms the mossy rose,
Blue nods the harebell
Where purple heather blows:
The water-lily, silver white,
Is living fair as light :

Sweet jasmine-branches trail
A dusky starry veil :
Each goodly is to see,
Comely in its degree:

I only I, alas that this should be,
Am ruinously pale.

New year renews the grasses,
The crimson rose renews,
Brings up the breezy bluebell,
Refreshes heath with dews :
Then water-lilies ever
Bud fresh upon the river:
Then jasmine lights its star
And spreads its arms afar :
I only in my spring

Can neither bud nor sing:
I find not honey but a sting
Though fair the blossoms are,

For me no downy grasses,
For me no blossoms pluck :
But leave them for the breezes,
For honey-bees to suck,

For childish hands to pull

And pile their baskets full :