A dim, sweet, twilight voice it is. With starry feelings quivered through. Thy voice is like a fountain Thine is music such as yields The green, bright grass of childhood bring to me, And the bright blue skies above! The sunshine and the merriment, The joy, that, like a clear breeze, went Peace sits within thine eyes, With white hands crossed in joyful rest, She sits and sings, With folded wings And white arms crost, "Weep not for passed things, The beauty which the summer time The forest oracles sublime That filled thy soul with joyous dread, The scent of every smallest flower That made thy heart sweet for an hour, — Flowing to thee, thou knewest not whence, Fresh as it hath ever been; Promptings of Nature, beckonings sweet, The guiders of thy silver hairs; Thy voice is like a fountain, When the moon behind the mountain Ever sparkling, We know not if 't is dark or bright; But, when the great moon hath rolled round, And, sudden-slow, its solemn power Grows from behind its black, clearedged bound, No spot of dark the fountain keepeth, But, swift as opening eyelids, leapeth Into a waving silver flower. 1841. THE MOON. My soul was like the sea, Through every rift it foamed in vain, Seeking some unknown thing in pain, For yet no moon had risen: Its only voice a vast dumb moan, And lived but in an aimless seeking. So was my soul; but when 't was full When thou, its guardian moon, didst rise. May toss and seem uneaseful, With guidance sure and peaceful, As calm and natural as breath, Moves its great deeps through life and death. REMEMBERED MUSIC. A FRAGMENT. THICK-RUSHING, like an ocean vast Or in low murmurs they began, As o'er a harp Æolian A fitful breeze, until they ran And then, like minute drops of rain They lingering dropped and dropped again, 1840. To listen when the next would be. SONG. TO M. L. A LILY thou wast when I saw thee first, That hourly grew more pure and white, By the wind and sun; The rain and the dew for thee took care; A lily thou wast when I saw thee first, How full of wonder was the change, When, ripe with all sweetness, thy full bloom burst! Reached its blossoming hour, And I saw the warm deeps of thy golden heart! Glad death may pluck thee, but never before Hath dropped from thy heart into mine, Of fragrance and light, Which fall upon souls that are lone and astray, ALLEGRA. I WOULD more natures were like thine, That we who drink forget to pine, Thou canst not see a shade in life; Thou wast some foundling whom the Hours Hath ruled thy nature from its birth, As if thy natal stars were flowers That shook their seeds round thee on earth. And thou, to lull thine infant rest, Wast cradled like an Indian child; Thine every fancy seems to borrow I would more natures were like thine, Whose sad thoughts, even, leap and shine, Making us mindless of the brine, In gazing on the brilliancy. THE FOUNTAIN. INTO the sunshine, Full of the light, Leaping and flashing From morn till night! |