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And the light forsook thine eye, And thy head sank heavily ; Was that drooping but th’ excess Of thy spirit's blessedness? Or did some deep feeling's might, Folded in thy heart from sight, With a sudden tempest shower Earthward bear thy life's young flower ? -Who shall tell us ?-on thy tongue Silence, and for ever, hung ! Never to thy lip and cheek Rush'd again the crimson streak, Never to thine eye return'd That which there have beam'd and burn'd With the secret none might know, With thy rapture or thy woe, With thy marriage robe and wreath, Thou wert fled-Young Bride of Death! One, one lightning-moment there, Struck down Triumph to Despair, Beauty, Splendour, Hope, and Trust, Into Darkness, Terror-Dust!
There were sounds of weeping o'er thee,
-“ From the power of chill and change, Souls to sever and estrange; From Love's wane-a death in life, But to watch a mortal strife ; From the secret fevers, known To the burden'd heart alone; Thou art fled-afar-away, Where those blights no more have sway! Bright one! oh, there well may be Comfort 'midst our tears for thee!"
STANZAS FOR MUSIC.
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters
With a magic like thee;
Is thy sweet voice to me,
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o'er the deep,
As an infant's asleep!-
I DO NOT LOVE THEE.
I do not love thee!--no! I do not love thee! And yet when thou art absent I am sad ;
And envy even the bright blue sky above thee, Whose quiet stars may see thee and be glad.
I do not love thee !-yet, I know not why, Whate'er thou dost seems still well done, to me
And often in my solitude I sigh-
I do not love thee!--yet, when thou art gone, I hate the sound (though those who speak be dear)
Which breaks the lingering echo of the tone Thy voice of music leaves upon my ear.
I do not love thee 1-yet thy speaking eyes, With their deep, bright, and most expressive blue
Between me and the midnight heaven arise, Oftener than any eyes I ever knew.
I know I do not love thee 1-yet, alas ! Others will scarcely trust my candid heart;
And oft I catch them smiling as they pass, Because they see me gazing where thou art.
TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT.
From the bright stars, or from the viewless air,
Answer me, answer me!
Have we not communed here, of life and death ?
Answer, oh! answer me!
Thine eye's last light was mine—the soul that shone Intensely, mournfully, through gathering haze; Didst thou bear with thee, to the shore unknown, Nought of what lived in that long, earnest gaze ?
Hear, hear, and answer me !
Thy voice-its low, soft, fervent, farewell tone
But once, ohl answer me.
In the still noontide, in the sunset's hush,
Spirit! then answer me.