Call it a moment's work (and such it seems) This Tale's a Fragment from the Life of Dreams;
But say, that years matur'd the silent strife,
And 'tis a Record from the Dream of Life.
LINES COMPOSED 21st. FEBRUARY, 1827.
ALL Nature seems at work. Stags leave their lair -- The bees are stirring-birds are on the wing And WINTER slumbering in the open air, Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring ! And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing, Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where Amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow. Bloom, O ye Amaranths! bloom for whom ye may, For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away! With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll : And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul? WORK WITHOUT HOPE draws nectar in a sieve, And HOPE without an object cannot live.
VERSE, a Breeze mid blossoms straying, Where HOPE clung feeding, like a bee- Both were mine! Life went a maying
With NATURE, HOPE, and POESY, When I was young!
When I was young? - Ah, woful WHEN! Ah for the Change 'twixt Now and Then! This breathing House not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery Cliffs and glittering Sands, How lightly then it flashed along :- Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding Lakes and Rivers wide, That ask no aid of Sail or Oar, That fear no spite of Wind or Tide! Nought cared this Body for wind or weather When Youth and I liv'd in't together.
FLOWERS are lovely; LOVE is flower-like; FRIENDSHIP is a sheltering tree ;
O the Joys, that came down shower-like, Of FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, and LIBERTY,
Ere I was old? Ah woful ERE, Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! Ο YOUTH! for years so many and sweet, 'Tis known, that Thou and I were one, I'll think it but a fond conceit- It cannot be, that Thou art gone! Thy Vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd :- And thou wert aye a Masker bold ! What strange Disguise hast now put on. To make believe, that thou art gone? I see these Locks in silvery slips, This drooping Gait, this altered Size: But SPRINGTIDE blossoms on thy Lips, And Tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! Life is but Thought: so think I will
That Youth and I are House-mates still.
My eyes make pictures, when they are shut : I see a Fountain, large and fair,
A Willow and a ruined Hut, And thee, and me and Mary there. O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow! Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green Willow!
A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed,
And that and summer well agree : And, lo! where Mary leans her head,
Two dear names carved upon the tree! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow : Our sister and our friend will both be here to-morrow.
'Twas Day! But now few, large, and bright The stars are round the crescent moon! And now it is a dark warm Night,
The balmiest of the month of June!
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