Gleamed a face of airy beauty with its heavenly eyes on mine Gleamed and vanished in a moment-O that face was surely thine Out of heaven, Barbara ! O pallid, pallid face! O earnest eyes of grace! When last I saw thee, dearest, it was in another place. You came running forth to meet me with my love-gift on your wrist : The flutter of a long white dress, then all was lost in mist A purple stain of agony was on the mouth I kissed, I searched, in my despair, Sunny noon and midnight air ; I could not drive away the thought that you were lingering there. O many and many a winter night I sat when you were gone, My worn face buried in my hands, beside the fire alone— Within the dripping churchyard, the rain plashing on your stone, You were sleeping, Barbara. 'Mong angels, do you think Of the precious golden link I clasped around your happy arm while sitting by yon brink? Or when that night of gliding dance, of laughter and guitars, Was emptied of its music, and we watched, through latticed bars, The silent midnight heaven creeping o'er us with its stars, Till the day broke, Barbara? In the years I've changed; Wild and far my heart hath ranged, And many sins and errors now have been on me avenged; But to you I have been faithful, whatsoever good I lacked ; I loved you, and above my life still hangs that love intact— Your love the trembling rainbow, I the reckless cataract— Still I love you, Barbara. Yet, love, I am unblest ; With many doubts opprest, I wander like a desert wind, without a place of rest. you more Than the melancholy world doth know; things deeper than all lore You could teach me, Barbara. In vain, in vain, in vain, You will never come again. There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful fringe of rain; The gloaming closes slowly round, loud winds are in the tree, Round selfish shores for ever moans the hurt and wounded sea, There is no rest upon the earth, peace is with Death and thee, Barbara! ALEXANDER SMITH AMATURUS OMEWHERE beneath the sun, Somewhere there must be one Made for this soul, to move it; Some one that hides her sweetness From neighbours whom she slights, Nor can attain completeness, Nor give her heart its rights; Some one whom I could court With no great change of manner, Still holding reason's fort, Though waving fancy's banner; A lady, not so queenly As to disdain my hand, Yet born to smile serenely Like those that rule the land ; Noble, but not too proud; With soft hair simply folded, And bright face crescent-browed, And throat by Muses moulded; And eyelids lightly falling On little glistening seas, Of things one may not know ; Forth, Love, and find this maid, Wherever she be hidden : But plead as thou art bidden : SONNET BUT were I loved, as I desire to be, WILLIAM CORY What is there in the great sphere of the earth, All the inner, all the outer world of pain Clear Love would pierce and cleave, if thou wert mine, ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON SONG FROM "THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER " T is the miller's daughter, IT And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles in her ear: For hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white. And I would be the girdle About her dainty dainty waist, And I should know if it beat right, And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise With her laughter or her sighs, I scarce should be unclasp'd at night. ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON FATIMA 1 LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might! O sun, that from thy noonday height Shudderest when I strain my sight, Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light, Lo, falling from my constant mind, Last night I wasted hateful hours 1 This magnificent poem originally appeared in Poems, by Alfred Tennyson, 1833, under the title φαίνεταί μοι κήνος ἴσος θέοισιν Εμμεν ὤνηρ a quotation from the second fragment of Sappho-of which this poem is an elaboration, as it is at the same time of Catullus's famous imitation of Sappho, Catullus, li., "Ad Lesbiam". The poem in 1833 was without the second stanza. |