And flaming downward over all And slowly rounded to the east "The day to night," she made her moan, "The day to night, the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." VIII. At eve a dry cicala sung, There came a sound as of the sea; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And leaned upon the balcony. There all in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper glittered on her tears, And deepening through the silent spheres, Heaven over Heaven rose the night. And weeping then she made her moan, "The night comes on that knows not mor When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." ELEANORE. THY dark eyes opened not, Nor first revealed themselves to English air For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighborhood, Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fanned With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades: And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought, At the moment of thy birth, From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills, And shadowed coves on a sunny shore, The choicest wealth of all the earth, Jewel or shell, or starry ore, To deck thy cradle, Eleänore. Or the yellow-banded bees, Fed thee, a child, lying alone, With whitest honey in fairy gardens culled A glorious child, dreaming alone, In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, With the hum of swarming bees Into dreamful slumber lulled. Who may minister to thee? To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded With many a deep-hued bell-like flower Of fragrant trailers, when the air And the crag that fronts the Even, All along the shadowing shore, Crimsons over an inland mere, How may full-sailed verse express, Of thy swan-like stateliness, Eleänore? The luxuriant symmetry Of thy floating gracefulness, Eleänore? Every turn and glance of thine, Eleänore, And the steady sunset glow, Is nothing sudden, nothing single; Like two streams of incense free From one censer, in one shrine, Thought and motion mingle, To one another, even as though They were modulated so To an unheard melody, Which lives about thee, and a sweep Of richest pauses, evermore I stand before thee, Eleänore; I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Slowly, as from a cloud of gold, The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Serene, imperial Eleänore! Sometimes, with most intensity Gazing, I seem to see Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep, |