What hope or fear or joy is thine?

Who talketh with thee, Adeline?

For sure thou art not all alone:

Do beating hearts of salient springs

Keep measure with thine own?

Hast thou heard the butterflies

What they say betwixt their wings?
Or in stillest evenings

With what voice the violet woos

To his heart the silver dews?

To the mosses undernea

Hast thou look'd upon t Of the lilies at sunrise?

Wherefore that faint smile of th

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

Some honey-converse feeds thy Some spirit of a crimson rose In love with thee forgets to cl

His curtains, wasting odoro All night long on darkness blind. What aileth thee? whom waitest With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow And those dew-lit eyes of th

Thou faint smiler, Adeline?

Lovest thou the doleful wind

When thou gazest at the ski

With melodious airs lovelorn,

Breathing Light against thy face, While his locks a-dropping 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.

And with a sweeping of the arm,
And a lack-lustre dead-blue eye,
Devolved his rounded periods.

IV.

Most delicately hour by hour
He canvass'd human mysteries,

And trod on silk, as if the winds
Blew his own praises in his eyes,
And stood aloof from other minds
In impotence of fancied power.

With lips depress'd as he were meek, Himself unto himself he sold :

Upon himself himself did feed ·

Quiet, dispassionate, and cold,

And other than his form of creed,

With chisell'd features clear and sleek.