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I PANT for the music which is divine,

My heart in its thirst is a dying flower ; Pour forth the sound like inchanted wine,

Loosen the notes in a silver shower ; Like a herbless plain, for the gentle rain, I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.


Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound,

More, O more, — I am thirsting yet,
It loosens the serpent which care has bound

Upon my heart to stifle it;
The dissolving strain, through every vein,
Passes into my heart and brain.


As the scent of a violet withered up,

Which grew by the brink of a silver lake; When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup,

And mist there was none its thirst to slake And the violet lay dead while the odour few On the wings of the wind o'er the waters blue


As one who drinks from a charmed cup

Of foaming, and sparkling and murmuring wine, Whom, a mighty Enchantress filling up,

Invites to love rith her kiss ivine.



SUMMER was dead and Autumn was expiring,

And infant Winter laughed upon the land All cloudlessly and cold ; — when I, desiring

More in this world than any understand, Wept o'er the beauty, which like sea retiring,

Had left the earth bare as the wave-worn sand Of my lorn heart, and o'er the grass and flowers Pale for the falsehood of the flattering Hours.


Summer was dead, but I yet lived to weep

The instability of all but weeping;
And on the Earth lulled in her winter sleep
I woke, and envied her as she was sleeping.

Too happy Earth! over thy face shall creep

The wakening vernal airs, until thou, leaping
From unremembered dreams, shalt
No death divide thy immortality.



I loved — O no, I mean not one of

ye, Or any earthly one, though ye are dear As human heart to human heart may be ;

I loved, I know not what — but this low sphere And all that it contains, contains not thee,

Thou, whom seen nowhere, I feel everywhere. From heaven and earth, and all that in them are, Veiled art thou, like a



By Heaven and Earth, from all whose shapes thou

flowest, Neither to be contained, delayed, nor hidden, Making divine the loftiest and the lowest,

When for a moment thou art not forbidden
To live within the life which thou bestowest;

And leaving noblest things vacant and chidden,
Cold as a corpse after the spirit's flight,
Blank as the sun after the birth of night.


in winds, and trees, and streams, and all things common,

In music and the sweet unconscious tone Of animals, and voices which are human,

Meant to express some feelings of their own ; In the soft motions and rare smile of woman,

In flowers and leaves, and in the grass fresh-shewn, Or dying in the autumn, I the most Adore thee present or lament thee lost.


And thus I went lamenting, when I saw

A plant upon the river's margin lie,
Like one who loved beyond his Nature's law,

And in despair had cast him down to die;
Its leaves which had outlived the frost, the thaw

Had blighted ; like a heart which hatred's eye
Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew
Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.


The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth

Had crushed it on her unmaternal breast.



I bore it to my chamber, and I planted

It in a vase full of the lightest mould;
The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted

Fell through the window panes, disrobed of cold, C'pon its leaves and flowers, the star which panted

In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled Over the horizon's wave, with looks of light Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.

The mitigated influences of air

And light revived the plant, and from it grew Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,

Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew, O'erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere

Of vital warmth infolded it anew, And every impulse sent to every part The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.


Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,

Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it; For one wept o'er it all the winter long

Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it

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