Unlike and far sweeter than they all: Sad Aziola! from that moment I Loved thee and thy sad cry.
NOR happiness, nor majesty, nor fame, Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill in arms or arts, Shepherd those herds whom tyranny makes tame; Verse echoes not one beating of their hearts: History is but the shadow of their shame; Art veils her glass, or from the pageant starts As to oblivion their blind millions fleet, Staining that Heaven with obscene imagery Of their own likeness. What are numbers, knit By force or custom? Man who man would be, Must rule the empire of himself! in it Must be supreme, establishing his throne On vanquished will, quelling the anarchy Of hopes and fears, being himself alone.
O WORLD! O life! O time!
On whose last steps I climb,
Trembling at that where I had stood before; When will return the glory of your prime ? No more-Oh, never more!
Out of the day and night
A joy has taken flight:
Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar, Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more Oh, never more!
I ARISE from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright. I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet
Has led me who knows how? To thy chamber window, sweet!
The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream- The champak odours fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine,
O beloved 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! My heart beats loud and fast, Oh! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last.
THE golden gates of sleep unbar
Where strength and beauty, met together, Kindle their image like a star
In a sea of glassy weather!
Night, with all thy stars look down,— Darkness, weep thy holiest dew,— Never smiled the inconstant moon On a pair so true.
Let eyes not see their own delight; Haste, swift Hour, and thy flight Oft renew.
Fairies, sprites, and angels, keep her! Holy stars, permit no wrong! And return to wake the sleeper, Dawn,-ere it be long.
O joy! O fear! what will be done In the absence of the sun!
WHEN passion's trance is overpast, If tenderness and truth could last Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep Some mortal slumber, dark and deep, I should not weep, I should not weep!
It were enough to feel, to see Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly,
And dream the rest-and burn and be The secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been.
After the slumber of the year The woodland violets re-appear; All things revive in field or grove, And sky and sea; but two, which move,
And for all others, life and love.
GOOD-NIGHT? ah! no; the hour is ill
Which severs those it should unite; Let us remain together still,
Then it will be good night.
How can I call the lone night good, Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight? Be it not said, thought, understood, That it will be good night.
To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light, The night is good; because, my love, They never say good-night.
I PANT for the music which is divine, My heart in its thirst is a dying flower; Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine, Loosen the notes in a silver shower; Like a herbless plain for the gentle rain, I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.
Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound, More, O more!-I am thirsting yet,
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