Nor thought that gardener, full of scorns For men unlearned and simple phrase, A child would bring it all its praise, By creeping through the thorns!
To me, upon my low moss seat, Though never a dream the roses sent Of science or love's compliment,
I ween they smelt as sweet.
Nor ever a grief was mine, to see The trace of human step departed :Because the garden was deserted,
The blither place for me!
Friends, blame me not! a narrow ken Hath childhood 'twixt the sun and sward! We draw the moral afterward
We feel the gladness then!
And gladdest hours for me did glide
In silence at the rose-tree wall:
A thrush made gladness musical Upon the other side.
Nor he nor I did e'er incline To mar or pluck the blossoms white.How should I know but that they might Lead lives as glad as mine?
To make my hermit-home complete, I brought clear water from the spring, Praised in its own low murmuring,- And cresses glossy wet.
And so, I thought my likeness grew (Without the melancholy tale) To gentle hermit of the dale, And Angelina too!
For oft I read, within my nook, Such minstrel stories, till the breeze Made sounds poetic in the trees,- And then I shut the book.
If I shut this wherein I write, I hear no more the wind athwart Those trees!-nor feel that childish heart Delighting in delight!
My childhood from my life is parted; My footstep from the moss which drew Its fairy circle round: anew
The garden is deserted!
Another thrush may there rehearse The madrigals which sweetest are ;- No more for me!-myself, afar, Do sing a sadder verse!
Ah me! ah me!-when erst I lay In that child's-nest so greenly wrought, I laughed to myself and thought, "The time will pass away!"
I laughed still, and did not fear But that, whene'er was past away The childish time, some happier play My womanhood would cheer.
I knew the time would pass away,- And yet, beside the rose-tree wall, Dear God!-how seldom, if at all, I looked up to pray!
The time is past!-and now that grows The cypress high among the trees, And I behold white sepulchres
As well as the white rose
When wiser, meeker thoughts are given, And I have learn'd to lift my face, Remembering earth's greenest place The colour draws from heaven
It something saith for earthly pain, But more for heavenly promise free, That I who was, would shrink to be That happy child again!
I CLASS'D and counted once Earth's lamentable sounds-the well-a-day, The jarring yea and nay,
The fall of kisses upon senseless clay,
The sobb'd farewell, the greeting mournfuler,- But all those accents were
Less bitter with the leaven of earth's despair Than I thought these loved once."
And who saith "I loved once ?"—
Not angels; whose clear eyes love, love foresee; Love through eternity
Who by "to love," do apprehend "to be."
Not God, called love, His noble crown-name; casting A light too broad for blasting!
The great God, changing not for everlasting, Saith never, "I loved once."
Nor ever "I loved once"
Wilt thou say, O meek Christ, O victim-friend! The nail and curse may rend,
But, having loved, Thou lovest to the end.
This is man's saying! Impotent to move One spheric star above,
Man desecrates the eternal God-word Love, With his "no more" and "once."
How say ye, "We loved once," Blasphemers? Is your earth not cold enow, Mourners, without that snow?
Ah, sweetest friend-and would ye wrong me so? And would ye say of me, whose heart is known, Whose prayers have met your own: [shone, Whose tears have fallen for you; whose smile hath Your words "We loved her once?"
Could ye "we loved her once"
Say cold of me, when dwelling out of sight? When happier friends aright
(Not truer) stand between me and your light?
When, like a flower kept too long in the shade, Ye find my colours fade,
And all that is not love in me decay'd, Say ye, "We loved her once?"
Will ye, "We loved her once"
Say after, when the bearers leave the door? When having murmur'd o'er
My last "Oh say it not," I speak no more?
Not so not then-least THEN! when life is shriven, And death's full joy is given,-
Of those who sit and love you up in heaven, Say not, "We loved them once."
Say never, "We loved once:" God is too near above-the grave below: And all our moments go
Too quickly past our souls for saying so.
The mysteries of life and death avenge
Affections light of range
There comes no change to justify that change, Whatever comes-loved once!
And yet that word of "once"
Is humanly acceptive-kings have said,
Shaking a discrown'd head,
"We ruled once," idiot tongues, "we once bested."
Cripples once danced i' the vines, and warriors proved
To nurse's rocking moved:
But Love strikes one hour-LOVE! Those never Who dream that they loved once.
O earth, so full of dreary noises ! O men, with wailing in your voices! O delved gold, the wailers heap! O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall! God makes a silence through you all,
And "giveth His beloved sleep."
His dew drops mutely on the hill; His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men toil and reap! More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead,
"He giveth His beloved sleep."
Ha! men may wonder while they scan A living, thinking, feeling man,
In such a rest his heart to keep; But angels say-and through the word I ween their blessed smile is heard- "He giveth His beloved sleep!"
For me, my heart, that erst did go, Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the juggler's leap,Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose,
Who "giveth His beloved sleep!"
And, friends!-dear friends!—when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep- Let me, most loving of you all, Say, not a tear must o'er her fall- "He giveth His beloved sleep!"
How beautiful is earth! my starry thoughts Look down on it from their unearthly sphere, And sing symphonious-Beautiful is earth! The lights and shadows of her myriad hills; The branching greenness of her myriad woods; Her sky-affecting rocks; her zoning sea; Her rushing, gleaming cataracts; her streams That race below, the wingéd clouds on high; Her pleasantness of vale and meadow ;— Hush!
Meseemeth through the leafy trees to ring A chime of bells to falling waters tuned; Whereat comes heathen Zephyrus, out of breath With running up the hills, and shakes his hair From off his gleesome forehead, bold and glad With keeping blythe Dan Phoebus company;— And throws him on the grass, though half-afraid, First glancing round, lest tempests should be nigh; And lays close to the ground his ruddy lips, And shapes their beauty into sound, and calls On all the petall'd flowers that sit beneath In hiding-places from the rain and snow, To loosen the hard soil, and leave their cold, Sad idlesse, and betake them up to him. They straightway hear his voice-
And press from out my soul the heathen dream. Mine eyes were purged. Straightway did I bind
Round me the garment of my strength, and heard Nature's death-shrieking-the hereafter cry, When he o' the lion voice, the rainbow-crown'd, Shall stand upon the mountains and the sea, And swear by earth, by heaven's throne, and Him Who sitteth on the throne, there shall be time No more, no more! Then, veil'd Eternity Shall straight unveil her awful countenance Unto the reeling worlds, and take the place Of seasons, years, and ages. Aye and aye Shall be the time of day. The wrinkled heaven Shall yield her silent sun, made blind and white With an exterminating light: the wind, Unchained from the poles, nor having charge Of cloud or ocean, with a sobbing wail Shall rush among the stars, and swoon to death. Yea, the shrunk earth, appearing livid pale Beneath the red-tongued flame, shall shudder by From out her ancient place, and leave--a void. Yet haply by that void the saints redeem'd May sometimes stray; when memory of sin Ghost-like shall rise upon their holy souls; And on their lips shall lie the name of earth In paleness and in silentness; until, Each looking on his brother, face to face, And bursting into sudden happy tears, (The only tears undried) shall murmur-"Christ!"
"Mr midnight lamp is weary as my soul,And, being unimmortal, has gone out! And now, alone, yon moony lamp of heavenWhich God lit, and not man-illuminates These volumes, others wrote in weariness,As I have read them; and this cheek and brow, Whose paleness, burnéd in with heats of thought, Would make an angel smile, to see how ill Clay, thrust from Paradise, consorts with mindIf angels could, like men, smile bitterly!
"Yet must my brow be paler! I have vow'd To clip it with the crown which cannot fade, When it is faded. Not in vain ye cry, Oh! glorious voices, that survive the tongues From whence was drawn your separate sovereignty, For I would reign beside you! I would melt The golden treasures of my health and life Into that name! My lips are vow'd apart From cheerful words-mine ears from pleasant sounds-
Mine eyes from sights God made so beautiful- My feet from wanderings under shady trees- My hands from clasping of dear-loving friends- My very heart from feelings which move soft! Vow'd am I from the day's delightsomeness, And dreams of night!—and when the house is dumb In sleep-which is the pause 'twixt life and life- I live and waken thus; and pluck away Slumber's sleek poppies from my painéd lids— Goading my mind, with thongs wrought by herself, To toil and struggle along this mountain-path- Which hath no mountain-airs-until she sweat, Like Adam's brow,-and gasp, and rend away, In agony, her garment of the flesh!"
And so, his midnight lamp was lit anew, And burn'd till morning. But his lamp of life Till morning burn'd not! He was found embraced, Close, cold and stiff, by death's compelling sleep; His breast and brow supported on a page Character'd over with a praise of fame,— Of its divineness and beatitude-
Words which had often caused that heart to throb, That cheek to burn; though silent lay they, now,— Without a single beating in the pulse, And all the fever gone!
I saw a bay Spring, verdant, from a newly-fashion'd grave: The grass upon the grave was verdanter,- That being water'd by the eyes of One Who bore not to look up toward the tree! Others look'd on it-some, with passing glance, Because the light wind stirred in its leaves; And some, with sudden lighting of the soul, In admiration's ecstasy!-ay! some
Did wag their heads like oracles, and say, Tis very well!" But none remembered The heart which housed the root-except that One Whose sight was lost in weeping!
Ambition-idol of the intellect? Shall we drink aconite, alone to use Thy golden bowl-and sleep ourselves to death, To dream thy visions about life? Oh, power! That art a very feebleness!-before Thy clayey feet we bend our knees of clay,- And round thy senseless brow bind diadems, With paralytic hands,-and shout “A god!” With voices mortal-hoarse! Who can discern Th' infirmities they share in? Being blind, We cannot see thy blindness :-being weak, We cannot feel thy weakness:-being low, We cannot mete thy baseness :-being unwise, We cannot understand thine idiocy !
Perhaps the plague is in the town- And never a bell is tolling; And corpses, jostled 'neath the moon, Nod to the death-cart's rolling. The strong man calleth for the cup,
The young maid brings it weeping: The wife from her sick babe looks up, And shrieks away its sleeping. Be pitiful- Be pitiful, O God.
We tremble by the harmless bed Of one loved and departed.
Our tears drop on the lids that said,
Last night, "Be stronger-hearted!" Clasp, clasp the friendly fingers close
We stand here all as lonely,
To see a light on dearest brows Which is the daylight only.
Be pitiful
Be pitiful, O God.
The happy children come to us And look up in our faces; They ask us, was it thus and thus, When we were in their places?
We cannot speak: we see anew The hills we used to live in-
And feel our mother's smile press through The kisses she is giving.
Be pitiful
Be pitiful, O God.
SLEEP on, baby on the floor,
Tired of all the playing- Sleep with smile the sweeter for That you dropp'd away in; On your curls' fair roundness stand Golden lights serenely- One cheek, push'd out by the hand, Folds the dimple inly. Little head and little foot Heavy laid for pleasure, Underneath the lids half-shut Slants the shining azure- Open-soul'd in noonday sun, So, you lie and slumber; Nothing evil having done, Nothing can encumber.
I, who cannot sleep as well, Shall I sigh to view you? Or sigh further to foretell
All that may undo you? Nay, keep smiling, little child, Ere the fate appeareth! I smile, too! for patience mild Pleasure's token weareth. Nay, keep sleeping before loss! I shall sleep, though losing! As by cradle, so by cross, Sweet is the reposing.
And God knows, who sees us twain, Child at childish leisure,
I am all as tired of pain
As you are of pleasure. Very soon, too, by His grace Gently wrapt around me,
I shall show as calm a face, I shall sleep as soundly!
Differing in this, that you Clasp your playthings sleeping, While my hand must drop the few Given to my keeping-
Differing in this, that I
Sleeping, must be colder, And in waking presently, Brighter to beholderDiffering in this beside
(Sleeper, have you heard me? Do you move, and open wide
Your great eyes toward me?) That while I you draw withal
From this slumber solely, Me, from mine, an angel shall, Trumpet-tongued and holy!
Ox the door you will not enter,
I have gazed too long-Adieu! Hope hath lost her peradventureDeath is near me-and not you! Come and cover, Poet-lover,
These faint eyelids-so, to screen "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."
All is changing! Cold and gray Streams the sunshine through the door. If you stood there, would you say "Love, I love you," as before? When death lies
On the eyes Which you sang of that yestreen, As the sweetest ever seen!
When I heard you hymn them so, In my courtly days and bowers, Others' praise-I let it go- Only hearing that of yours; Only saying
In heart-playing, "Blessedest mine eyes have been, Since the sweetest his have seen!"
Now you wander far and farther, Little guessing of my pain! Now you think me smiling rather, And you smile me back again- Ay, and oft
Murmur soft, In your revery serene- "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"
And I think, were you beside them, Near this bed I die upon;
Though the beauty you denied them, As you stood there looking down, You would still Say at will,
For the love's sake found therein, "Sweetest eyes were ever seen!"
The lady died during the absence of her poet, and is supposed to muse thus while dying; referring to the verse in which he had recorded the sweetness of her eyes.
There have watch'd you, morn and e'en, "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."
When the palace ladies, sitting
Round your gittern, shall have said— "Sing the lovely stanzas written For that lady who is dead"- Will you, trying, Break off, sighing,
Or sing-dropping tears between- Sweetest eyes were ever seen?"
"Sweetest eyes!" How sweet, in flowings Of all tune, the burden is!
Though you sang a hundred poems, Still the best one would be this.
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