Puslapio vaizdai

Shadow delicate fell fast

From him upon a sister child,
Softening to mood more mild
Her raptured whiteness undefiled.


When the jubilant hymnals roam,
Buoyant-winged as sunny foam,
High-flung, wing-wafted, in the dome,
Or solemn-branched cathedral aisle,
From pure boy-bosoms, all the while
To me it seems my darling mingles
With the sound that burns and tingles,
Floating calm in the calm sea
Of all unshadowed harmony.
Holy, Holy, Holy! mount

Arrowy song-flight from the fount
Of our earth-music! that descending
Erst from heaven, will be blending
Now with his full songs of joy,
Who, lark-like, sings where no alloy
Of earth a gentle soul may trouble
In her perennial sweet bubble,
Whose lily petal ever fair
Reposes, feeding in live air.


THENE'ER there comes a little child,


My darling comes with him ;

Whene'er I hear a birdie wild

Who sings his merry whim,
Mine sings with him:

If a low strain of music sails
Among melodious hills and dales,
When a white lamb or kitten leaps,
Or star, or vernal flower peeps,
When rainbow dews are pulsing joy,
Or sunny waves, or leaflets toy,
Then he who sleeps

Softly wakes within my heart;
With a kiss from him I start;

He lays his head upon my breast,
Tho' I may not see my guest,
Dear bosom-guest!

In all that's pure and fair and good,
I feel the spring-time of thy blood,
Hear thy whispered accents flow
To lighten woe,

Feel them blend,

Although I fail to comprehend.

And if one woundeth with harsh word,
Or deed, a child, or beast, or bird,
It seems to strike weak Innocence
Through him, who hath for his defence
Thunder of the All-loving Sire,

And mine, to whom He gave the fire.

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Who may dream of all the music

Only a lover hears,

Hearkening to hearts triumphant Bearing down the years?

Ah! may eternal anthems dwindle To a low sound of tears?

Room in all the ages
For our love to grow,
Prayers of both demanded
A little while ago:

And now a few poor moments,
Between life and death,

May be proven all too ample
For love's breath!

Seed that promised blossom,
Withered in the mould!
Pale petals overblowing
Failing from the gold!

I well believe the fault lay
More with me than you,

But I feel the shadow closing
Cold about us two.

An hour may yet be yielded us,

Or a very little more—

Then a few tears, and silence
For evermore, Lily,

For evermore!


UR early love was only dream!
Still a dream too fair for earth,

Hallowed in a faint far gleam,

Where the fairest flowers have birth,

Let it rest! no stain e'er trouble

Magic murmur, limpid bubble!

There two spirits in the calm

Of moonlight memory may go,
Finding pure refreshing balm,

When life traileth wounded, slow
Along dim ways of common dust,
As dull lives of mortals must.

Early love, fair fount of waters,

Ever by enchantment flowing,

Where two snakes, her innocent daughters,

Were wont to swim among the blowing,
Wilding flowers thou knowest well,
In the wood of our sweet spell!

Never Fear found out the place,
Never eyes nor feet profane!
Of our innocent youth and grace
Love was born; if born to wane,
We will keep remembrance holy
From the soil of care and folly.

No weariness of life made wise,
No canker in the youngling bud,
No lustre failing from our eyes,

Nor ardour paling in the blood!
Neither ever seemed less fair
To the other playing there.

Still asleep, we drift asunder,

Who met and loved but in a dream; Nor kissing closely, woke to wonder Why we are not what we seem ! Fairy bloom dies when we press

Wings young zephyr may caress.

Fare you well! more might have been !
Nay, we know more might not be !

A moment only I may lean

On your bosom, ere you flee,

Ere the weary sultry day

Hide my morning and my May!

Yet a fairy fountain glistens

Under soft moon-lighted leaves,

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