374 TO JULIET. A THOUGHT AT NIGHT. IN yonder taper's waning light, TO JULIET. THE summer-the summer hath come, my love, Not a flower below, not a beam above, I have loved thee well-I have loved thee long I have loved thyself alone; There lived not a thought in my burning song, That my heart did not more than own. Be mine-be mine while the Hours allow For the leaves of my youth are round me now But the worm is in the tree. And the time, sweet love, is speeding fast, 66 "I blest his latest hours!" LOVE'S WATCH. TO JULIET SLEEPING. THE moonbeams thro' the lattice fall; And still I wake to feed on all The love I could not speak. And thou art mine-all mine at last! Our world can be earth's world no more, A gulf between this life hath past, And that we knew before. How rush the swelling tides of thought— All round grows hallowed ground to me! The loving air-with THEE! I ever thought till now, the light Of Heaven's sweet stars was mixed with sadness; Now they-now all-drink in my sight A glory and a gladness! Sweet love, I bend to kiss thy brow— I grow enamoured of thy rest; What dreams of heaven shall haunt me, now ON THE IMITATORS OF BYRON. A FABLE. A SWAN hymn'd music on the Muses' waves, Black were his plumes;—the Rooks that heard on high, Clapped his grave wings and Pierus rung with caws. What of the Swan's attraction could they lack, Their noise as mournful, and their wings as black? ON THE WANT OF SYMPATHY WE EXPERIENCE IN THE WORLD. "OH for one breast to image ours!" Vain shadows from the friend--the wife I grant thee, home's endearing sounds, I grant thee, love's first whispered tone; Mad are we all---who hath not pined For something kindred from his birth? What is not of the earth? Ah! could we to ourselves betroth One breast, a very shade of ours; Would Time alone not alter both The creatures of the hours? Go back into thy lonely soul, And with a calm and chasten'd eye Survey thy tether, and control The dreams that seek the sky ;And for ideal shapes, would melt All life into one vague desire ; In that far air wherein thou hast dwelt, Hope's mortal ends expire. Go--seek for joys amid thy kind! How much has life itself to bless The one whose wise and healthful mind A tie beyond the dreamer's art; Like Man's with his own heart. |