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Beyond the mighty moons that wane
Upon the verge of nature's utmost sphere,
Her voice is hovering o'er my soul — it lingers
O'ershadowing it with soft and lulling wings, The blood and life within those snowy fingers
Teach witchcraft to the instrumental strings. My brain is wild, my breath comes quick
The blood is listening in my frame, And thronging shadows, fast and thick,
Fall on my overflowing eyes;
As morning dew, that in the sunbeam dies,
I have no life, Constantia, now, but thee,
Whilst, like the world-surrounding air, thy song Flows on, and fills all things with melody.
Now is thy voice a tempest swift and strong, On which, like one in trance upborne,
Secure o'er rocks and waves I sweep, Rejoicing like a cloud of morn.
Now 'tis the breath of summer night, Which when the starry waters sleep,
Round western isles, with incense-blossoms bright, Lingering, suspends my soul in its voluptuous flight.
THE rose that drinks the fountain dew
In the pleasant air of noon,
In the gaze of the nightly moon;
Such is my heart — roses are fair,
And that at best a withered blossom ;
Its withered leaves in a faithless bosom ;
I MET a traveller from an antique land
That time is dead for ever, child,
We look on the past
And stare aghast At the spectres wailing, pale and ghast, Of hopes which thou and I beguiled
To death on life's dark river.
II. The stream we gazed on then, rolled by ; Its waves are unreturning;
But we yet stand
In a lone land, Like tombs to mark the memory Of hopes and fears, which fade and flee In the light of life's dim morning.
THEY die — the dead return not Misery
Sits near an open grave and calls them over, A Youth with hoary hair and haggard eye
They are the names of kindred, friend and lover,
This most familiar scene, my pain —
Misery, my sweetest friend - oh! weep no more !
Thou wilt not be consoled - I wonder not ! For I have seen thee from thy dwelling's door
Watch the calm sunset with them, and this spot
This most familiar scene, my pain