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Praying all I can,
If prayers will not hush theo,

Aíry Lilian,
Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee,

Fairy Lilian.


WHERE Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,

Letting the rose-leaves fall : But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,

Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
With an ancient melody

Of an inwarıl agony,
Where Claribel low-lieth.

At eve the beetle boometh

Athwart the thicket lone:
At noon the wild bee hummeth

About the moss'd headstone:
At midnight the moon cometh,

And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth, The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,

The callow throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth,

The babbling runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth,


AIRY, fairy Lilian,

Flitting, fairy Lilian,
When I ask her if she love me,
Claps her tiny hands above me,

Laughing all she can;
She'll not tell me if she love me,
Cruel little Lilian.

When my passion seeks

Pleasance in love-sighs,
She, looking thro' and thro' me
Thoroughly to undo me,

Smiling, never speaks : So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple, From beneath her gather'd wimplo

(ilancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughter.; dimple

The baby-roses in her cheeks;
Then away sho tlies.

Prythee weep, May Lilian !

Gayety without eclipse
Wearieth me, May Lilian :
Thro' my very heart it thrilleth

When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth:

Prythee weep, May Lilian.


I. EYES not down-dropt nor over brighte

but fed With the clear-pointed flame of

chastity, Clear, without beat, undying,

tended by Pure

vestal thoughts in the translucent fane Of her still spirit; locks not wide

dispread, Madonna-wise on either side her

head; Sweet lips whereon perpetually

did reign The suminer calm of golden charity, Were fixed shadows of thy tixel mooi,

Revered Isabel, the crown and

head, The stately flower of female fortitude, Of perfect wifehood and pure lowTihead.

II. The intuitive decision of a bright And thorough-edged inteller: to part Error from crime; a proience to

withhold; The laws of marriage character'd

in gold Upon the blanched tablets of her

heart; A love still burning upwarı, giving

light To read those laws; an accent very

low In blandishment, but a most silver

Of subtle-paced counsel in dis-

tress, Right to the lart and brain, tho'

undescried, Winning its way with extremo

gentleness Thro' all the outworks of suspicious

pride; A courage to endure and to obey; A hate of gossip parlance, and of



TO Crown'd Isabel, thro' all her placid

life, The queen of marriage, a most per

fect wife,



The mellow'd reflex of a winter moon; A clear stream flowing with a muddy

one, Till in 'its onward current it absorbs With swifter movement and in

purer light The vexed eddies of its wayward

brother: A leaning and upbearing parasite, Clothing the stem, which else had

fallen quite, With cluster'd flower-bells and am

brosial orbs Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on

each otherShadow forth thee :- the world

hath not another (Tho' all her fairest forms are types of

thee, And thou of God in thy great charity) Of such a finish'd chasten'd purity.

Mariana in the moated grange."

Measure for Measure. With blackest moss the flower-plots

Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots

That held the pear to the gable-wall. The broken sheds look'd sad and

strange :
Unlifted was the clinking latch;

Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.

She only said, "My life is dreary,

He cometh not,” she said;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead!”
Her tears fell with the dews at even ;
Her tears fell ere the dews were

dried ; She could not look on the sweet heaven,

Either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, When thickest dark did trance the

sky, She drew her casement-curtain by, And glanced athwart the glooming

flats. She only said, “The night is


He cometh not,” she said ;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead."
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl

crow: The cock sung out an hour ere light:

From the dark fen the oxen's low Came to her: without hope of change,

In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,

Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, “The day is dreary,

He cometh not," she said ;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead!”
About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blackened waters

slept, And o'er it many, round and small,

The cluster'd marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway,

All silver-green with gnarled bark: For leagues no other tree did mark The level waste, the rounding gray.

She only said, "My life is dreary,

He cometh not,” she said ;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I wore dead !”
And ever when the moon was low,

And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro,

She saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their

cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow.

She only said, "The night is dreary,

He cometh not,” she said ;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead!”
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the

mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot

shriek’d, Or from the crevice peer'd about.

Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,

Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without.

She only said, "My life is dreary,

He cometh not,” she said ;
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead!"
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the

sound Which to the wooing wind aloof

The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the

hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower.

Then, said she, “I am very dreary,

He will not come,” she said ;
She wept, “ I am aweary, aweary,
O God, that I were dead!”


I. CLEAR-HEADED friend, whose joyful

scorn, Edged with sharp laughter, cuts



The knots that tangle human creeds, All the mystery is thine; The wounding cords that bind and Smiling, frowning, evermore, strain

Thou art perfect in love-lore, The heart until it bleeds,

Ever varying Madeline. Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn

III. Roof not a glance so keen as thine :

A subtle, sudden-flame, If aught of prophecy be mine,

By veering passion fann'd, Thou wilt not live in vain.

About thee breaks and dances ;

When I would kiss thy hand, Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit; The flush of anger'd shame Falschood shall bare her plaited V'erflows thy calmer glances, brow:

And o'er black brows drops down Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not A sudden-curved frown: now

But when I turn away, With shrilling shafts of subtle wit. Thou, willing me to stay, Nor martyr-flames, nor trenchant Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest; swords

But, looking fixedly the while, Can do away that ancient lie;

All my bounding heart entanglest
A gentler death shall Falsehood die, In a golden-netted sinile;
Shot thro' and thro' with cunning Then in madness and in bliss,

If my lips should dare to kiss

Thy taper fingers amorously,
Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch, Again thou blushest angerly';
Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost And o'er black brows drops down

A sudden-curved frown,
Thy kingly intellect shall feed,
Until she be an athlete bold,

And weary with a finger's touch
Those writhed limbs of lightning


WHEN cats run home and light is come Like that strange angel which of

And dew is cold upon the ground, old,

And the far-off stream is dumb, Until the breaking of the light,

And the whirring sail goes round; Wrestled with wandering Israel,

And the whirring sail goes round Past Yabbok brook the livelong

Alone and warming his five wits, night,

The white owl in the belfry sits. And heaven's mazed signs stood still

II. In the dim tract of Penuel.

When merry milkmaids click the latch,

And rarely smells the new-mown MADELINE


And the cock hath sung beneath the I.

thatch THOU art not steep'd in golden Twice

or thrice his roundelay, languors,

Twice or thrice his roundelay ; No tranced summer calm is thine,

Alone and warming his five wita, Ever varying Madeline.

The white owl in the belfry sits. Thro' light and shadow thou dost

Sudden glances, sweet and strange,

Delicious spites and darling angers,
And airy forms of flitting change.


I. Smiling, frowning, evermore,

TAY tuwhits are lull'd, I wot, Thou art perfect in love-lore.

Thy tuwhoos of yesternight, Revealings deep and clear are thine Which upon

the dark afloat, Of wealthy smiles : but who may know So took echo with delight, Whether smile or frown be fleeter? So took echo with delight, Whether smile or frown be sweeter,

That her voice untuneful grown, Who may know?

Wears all day a fainter tone.
Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow
Light-glooming over eyes divine,

Like little clouds sun-fringed, are I would mock thy chant anew;

But I cannot mimic it; Ever varying Madeline.

Not a whit of thy tuwhoo, Thy smile and frown are not aloof Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, From one another,

Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, Each to each is dearest brother ; With a lengthen'd loud halloo, Hues of the silken sheeny woof

Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tue Momently shot into each other.



RECOLLECTIONS OF THE Wander'd engrain'd. On either side

All round about the fragrant marge

From fluted vase, and brazen urn WHEN the breeze of a joyful dawn In order, eastern flowers large, blew free

Some dropping low their crimson bells In the silken sail of infancy,

Half-closed, and others studded wide The tide of time flow'd back with me, With disks and tiars, fed the time

The forward-llowing tide of time; With odor in the golden prime And many a sheeny summer-morn,

Of good Haroun Alraschid. Adown the Tigris I was borne,

Far off, and where the lemon grove By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold, In closest coverture upsprung, High-walled gardens green and old; The living airs of middle night Trü - Mussulman was 1 and sworn, Died round the bulbul as he sung; For it was in the golden prime Not he: but something which pose Of good Haroun Alraschid.

sess'd Anight my shallop, rustling thro'

The darkness of the world, delight, The low and bloomed foliage, drove

Life, anguish, death, immortal love, The fragrant, glistening deeps, and

Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd, clove

Apart from place, withholding time, The citron-shadows in the blue :

But flattering the golden prime By garden porches on the brim,

Of good Haroun Alraschid. The costly doors flung open wide, Black the garden-bowers and grots Gold glittering thro' lamplight dim, Slumber'd: the solemn palms were And broider'd sofas on each side :

ranged In sooth it was a goodly time,

Above, un woo'd of summer wind : For it was in the golden prime A sudden splendor from behind Of good Haroun Alraschid. Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold.

green, Often, where clear-stemm'd platans And, flowing rapidly between guard

Their interspaces, counterchanged The outlet, did I turn away

The level lake with diamond-plots The boat-head down a broad canal Of dark and bright. A lovely time, From the main river sluiced, where all For it was in the

golden primo The sloping of the moon-lit sward

Of good Haroun Alraschid.
Was dainask-work, and deep inlay.
Of braided blooms unmown, which

Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead,

I)istinct with vivid stars inlaid, crept

Grew darker from that under-flame : Adown to where the water slept.

So, leaping lightly from the boat, A goodly place, a goodly time,

With silver anchor left afloat, For it was in the golden prime

In marvel whence that glory camo Of good Haroun Alraschid.

l'pon me, as in sleep I sank A motion from the river won

In cool soft turf upon the bank, Ridged the smooh level, bearing on

Entranced with that place and time, My shallup th.o the star-strown calm,

So worthy of the golden prime Until another night in night

of good Haroun Alraschid. I enter'd, from the clearer light, Thence thro' the garden I was drawnImbower'd vaulus of pillar'd palm, A realm of pleasance, many a mound, Imprisoning sweets, which, as they And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn cloinb

Full of the city's stilly sound, Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the And deep. myrrh-thickets' blowing dome

round Of hollow boughs.-A goodly time, The stately cedar, tamarisks, For it was in the golden prime

Thick rosaries of scented thorn, Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks

Graven with emblems of the time, Still onward; and the clear canal

In honor of the golden prime
Is rounded to as clear a lake.
From the green rivage many a fall

Of good Haroun Alraschid.
Of diamond rillets musical,

With dazed vision unawares Thro’ little crystal arches low

From the long alley's latticed shade Down from the central fountain's flow Emerged, I came upon the great Fall'n silver-chiming, seem'd to shake

Pavilion of the Caliphat. The sparkling flints beneath the prow.

Right to the carven cedarn doors, A goodly place, a goodly time, Flüng inward over spangled floors, For it was in the golden prime

Broad-based flights of marble stairs Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Kan up with

golden balustrade,

After the fashion of the time, Above thro' many a powery turn

And humor of the golden prime A walk with vary-color'd shells

Of good Haroun Alraschid.

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