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Long alleys falling down to twilight

Or opening upon level plots
Of crowned lilies, standing near MYSTERY of mysteries,
Purple-spiked lavender :

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 ? My friend, with you to live alone, Were how much better than to own A crown, a sceptre, and a throne ! Whence that aery bloom of thine, O strengthen me, enlighten me!

Like a lily which the sun I faint in this obscurity,

Looks thro' in his sad decline,
Thou dewy dawn of memory.

And a rose-bush leans upon,
Thou that faintly smilest still,

As a Naiad in a well,

Looking at the set of day,

Or a phantom two hours old

Of à maiden past away,

Ere the placid lips be cold ?
A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours Wherefore those faint smiles of thine,
Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers : Spiritual Adeline ?

To himself he talks ;
For at eventide, listening earnestly,
At his work you may hear him sob and What hope or fear or joy is thine ?

Who talketh with thee, Adeline ?
In the walks ;

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
Heavily hangs the broad sunflower What they say betwixt their wings ?
Over its grave i' the earth sochilly;

Or in stillest evenings
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

With what voice the violet wooes
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

To his heart the silver dews?

Or when little airs arise,
How the merry bluebell rings

To the mosses underneath ?
The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, Hast thou look'd upon the breath
As a sick man's room when he taketh Of the lilies at sunrise ?

Wherefore that faint smile of thine,
An hour before death ;

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ? sly 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
And the breath

In love with thee forgets to close
Of the fading edges of box beneath, His curtains, wasting odorous sighs
And the year's last rose.

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,
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

And those dew-lit eyes of thine,
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

Thou faint smiler, Adeline !





The poet in a golden clime was born,

With golden stars above;
Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn

of scorn,
The love of love.

Lovest thou the doleful wind

When thou gazest at the skies?
Doth the low-tongued Orient
Wander from the side of the morn,

Dripping with Sabæan spice On thy pillow, lowly bent

With melodious airs lovelorn,
Breathing Light against thy face,
While his locks a-drooping twined

Round thy neck in subtle ring
Make a carcanet of rays,

And ye talk together still,
In the language wherewith Spring

Letters cowslips on the hill?
Hence that look and smile of thine,

Spiritual Adeline.


He saw thro' life and death, thro' good

and ill, He saw thro' his own soul. The marvel of the everlasting will,

An open scroll, Before him lay : with echoing feet he

threaded The secretest walks of fame : The viewless arrows of his thoughts were


And wing'd with flame, Like Indian reeds blown from his silver

tongue, And of so fierce a flight, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung,

Filling with light And vagrant melodies the winds which

bore Them earthward till they lit; Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field

The fruitful wit

With a half-glance upon the sky
At night he said, “The wanderings
Of this most intricate Universe
Teach me the nothingness of things."
Yet could not all creation pierce
Beyond the bottom of his eye.

He spake of beauty : that the dull
Saw no divinity in grass,
Life in dead stones, or spirit in air ;
Then looking as 't were in a glass,
He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair,
And said the earth was beautiful.

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And thro' the wreaths of floating dark In your eye there is death,

There is frost in your breath
Rare sunrise flow'd.

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.
Her beautiful bold brow,

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,

in. 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


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

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. Ohither, 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 ; | O listen, listen, your eyes 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 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 :
We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak All within is dark as night :
sweet words :

In the windows is no light ;
O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten And no murmur at the door,
With pleasure and love and jubilee : So frequent on its hinge before.



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Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stolo Close the door, the shutters close,

Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear;
Or thro' the windows we shall see

But anon her awful jubilant voice,
The nakedness and vacancy

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 roll'd Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth,

Thro' the open gates of the city afar, And shall fall again to ground.

To the shepherd who watcheth the evening

star. And the creeping mosses and clambering

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 among, us !

Were flooded over with eddying song.

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Thee nor carketh care nor slander;
Nothing but the small cold worm
Fretteth thine enshrouded form.

Let them rave.
Light and shadow ever wander
O'er the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.


Some blue peaks in the distance rose,
And white against the cold-white sky,
Shone out their crowning shows,

One willow over the river wept,
And shook the wave as the wind did sigh ;
Above in the wind was the swallow,

Chasing itself at its own wild will,
And far thro' the marish green and

The tangled water-courses slept,
Shot over with purple, and green, and

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul
Of that waste place with joy
Hidden in sorrow : At first to the ear
The warble was low, and full and clear;
And floating about the under-sky,

Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed ;
Chanteth not the brooding bee
Sweeter tones than calumny ?

Let them rave.
Thou wilt never raise thine head
From the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

Crocodiles wept tears for thee ;
The woodbine and eglatere
Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear.

Let them rave.

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