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With desperate earnestness; and staying even
Her breath, that nothing may disturb the hush,
Lays her wan cheek still closer to his heart,
And listens, as its varying pulses move,
Haply to catch a sound betokening life.
It beats-again-another-and another,
And, now, hath ceased for ever! What a shriek
A shrill and soul-appalling shriek peals forth,
Now the full truth hath rushed upon her brain!
Who may describe the rigidness of frame,
The stony look of anguish and despair,
With which she bends o'er that unmoving clay?
Not 1,—my pencil hath no further power:-
So here I 'll drop the Grecian painter's veil!
In alto poggio, in vall’im' e palustre :
Libero Spirito, od a' suoi membri affisso :
Pommi con Fama oscura ò non illustre:
Sarà qual fui; vivro com' io son visso
Continuando il mio sospir trilustre.
I THINK of thee—I think of thee,
And all that thou hast borne for me;-
In hours of gloom, or heartless glee,
I think of thee-I think of thee!
When fiercest rage the storms of Fate,
And all around is desolate,
I pour on Life's tempestuous sea
The oil of peace, with thoughts of thee!
When Fortune frowns, and Hope deceives me,
And summer-friendship veers and leaves me,
A Timon—from the world I flee
e;My wreck of wealth-sweet dreams of thee!
Or if I join the careless crowd,
Where laughter peals, and mirth grows loud,
Even in my hours of revelry
I think of thee,-I think of thee!
I think of thee.--I think and sigh
O'er blighted years and bliss gone by ;-
And mourn the stern, severe decree
That hath but left me-thoughts of thee!
In youth's gay hours, 'mid Pleasure's bowers,
When all was sunshine, mirth, and flowers,
We met-I bent the adoring knee,
And told a tender tale to thee!
'Twas summer's eve,—the Heavens above
Earth--ocean-air, were full of love;
Nature around kept jubilee,
When first I breathed that tale to thee!
The crystal clouds that hung on high
Were blue as thy delicious eye;-
The stirless shore, and sleeping sea,
Seemed emblems of repose and thee!
I spoke of hope ;-I spoke of fear;-
Thy answer was a blush and tear;
But this was eloquence to me,
And more than I had asked of thee!
I looked into thy dewy eye,
And echoed thy half stifled sigh ;-
I clasped thy hand, and vowed to be
The soul of love and truth to thee!
The scene and hour are past; yet still
Remains a deep impassioned thrill,-
A sun-set glow on memory,
Which kindles at a thought of thee!
We loved :-how wildly, and how well,
'Twere worse than idle now to tell !
From love and life alike thou 'rt free,
And I-am left-to think of thee!
Though years—long years have darkly sped
Since thou wert numbered with the dead,
In fancy oft thy form I see,
In dreams, at least, I'm still with thee!
Thy beauty-helplessness and youth,
Thy hapless fate--untiring truth,-
Are spells that often touch the key
Of sweet but mournful thoughts of thee!