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Jewel or shell, or starry ore,
Or the yellow-banded bees,
Fed thee, a child, lying alone,
With whitest honey in fairy gardens culled A glorious child, dreaming alone,
In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, With the hum of swarming bees
Into dreamful slumber lulled.
Who may minister to thee ?
To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded
On golden salvers, or it may be,
With many a deep-hued bell-like flower
Sleepeth over all the heaven,
All along the shadowing shore,
full-sailed verse express, How may measured words adore
The full-flowing harmony
A That stays upon thee? 'For in thee
Is nothing sudden, nothing single; Like two streams of incense free
From one censer, in one shrine,
Thought and motion mingle,
To an unheard melody,
Of richest pauses, evermore
Who may express thee, Eleanore ?
I see thy beauty gradually unfold,
Slowly, as from a cloud of gold,
The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were
So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee for evermore, Serene, imperial Eleänore ! Sometimes, with most intensity Gazing, I seem to see Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep, Slowly awakened, grow so full and deep In thy large eyes, that, overpowered quite, I cannot veil, or droop my sight, But am as nothing in its light: As though a star, in inmost heaven set, Even while we gaze on it, Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow To a full face, there like a sun remain
Fixed—then as slowly fade again,
And draw itself to what it was before;
So full, so deep, so slow,
Thought seems to come and
Roofed the world with doubt and fear,
In a silent meditation,
And luxury of contemplation:
Rolling slide, and lying still
Shadow forth the banks at will;
Pressing up against the land,
And the selfsame influence
Controlleth all the soul and sense
Leaning his cheek upon his hand,
And so would languish evermore,
Serene, imperial Eleanore. But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, While the amorous, odorous wind
Breathes low between the sunset and the moon;
Or, in a shadowy saloon,
I watch thy grace; and in its place
While I muse upon thy face;
And a languid fire creeps
Through my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly: soon,
From thy rose-red lips My name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon,
With dinning sound my ears are rife,
My tremulous tongue faltereth,
I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimmed with delirious draughts warmest life,
I die with my delight, before
I hear what I would hear from thee;
Yet tell my name again to me.
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
I SEE the wealthy miller yet,
His double chin, his portly size,
The busy wrinkles round his eyes ?
His dusty forehead dryly curled,
And full of dealings with the world ?
Three fingers round the old silver cup--
At his own jest-gray eyes lit up
So full of summer warmth, so glad,
His memory scarce can make me sad.
My own sweet Alice, we must die.
There's somewhat in this world amiss
Shall be unriddled by and by. There's somewhat flows to us in life,
But more is taken quite away. Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife,
That we may die the selfsame day.
Have I not found a happy earth ?
I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my
birth I'd almost live my life again. So sweet it seems with thee to walk,
And once again to woo thee mineIt seems in after-dinner talk
Across the walnuts and the wine
To be the long and listless boy
Late left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high
Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you
Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken through
By some wild skylark’s matin song.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan;
I had no motion of my own.
Before I dreamed that pleasant dream-Still hither thither idly swayed
Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I leaned to hear
The mill-dam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere
In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers, when they sprung