498 Let me set my mournful ditty Thou wilt come for pleasure;— Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest Autumn evening, and the morn I love snow and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, Which is Nature's, and may be Untainted by man's misery. I love tranquil solitude, As is quiet, wise, and good; Between thee and me What diff'rence? but thou dost possess I love Love-though he has wings, But above all other things, Spirit, I love thee Thou art love and life! O come! Make once more my heart thy home! STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR Naples THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The purple noon's transparent light: The breath of the moist earth is light Like many a voice of one delight The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods'— I see the Deep's untrampled floor Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown: The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, The sage in meditation found, And walk'd with inward glory crown'd- Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are; 499 I FEAR THY KISSES I FEAR thy kisses, gentle maiden; (X) HC XLI My spirit is too deeply laden I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; 500 LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR I ARISE from dreams of Thee The wandering airs they faint Like sweet thoughts in a dream; It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine O belovéd as thou art! O lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas! 501 To A SKYLARK HAIL to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight: Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over flow'd. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embower'd In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: |