And ever since, it grew more clean and white, Than that first kiss. The second passed in height The third upon my lips was folded down In perfect purple state; since when, indeed, I have been proud, and said, 'My love, my own.' XLIII. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the level of every day's I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, XLIV. Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers. So, in the like name of that love of ours, Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too, And which on warm and cold days I withdrew From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue, And wait thy weeding; yet here 's eglantine, Here's ivy! take them as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine. ་ FROM CROWNED AND BURIED.' 18 O WILD St. Helen! very still she kept him, Nay, not so long! France kept her old affection She cried, Behold, thou England! I would have And England answered in the courtesy for thy shame! Because it was not well, it was not well, To bind and bare and vex with vulture fell. I would that hostile fleets had scarred Torbay, Not for to-night's moon, nor to-morrow's sun: Green watching hills, ye witnessed what was done! But since it was done, -in sepulchral dust We fain would pay back something of our debt To France, if not to honor, and forget How through much fear we falsified the trust Orestes to Electra-in his urn. A little urn a little dust inside, Which once outbalanced the large earth, albeit Sleek-browed and smiling, 'Let the burden 'bide!' Of Paris, how the wild tears will run down And run back in the chariot-marks of time, When all the people shall come forth to meet Napoleon! he hath come again, borne home Room for the dead in Paris! welcome solemn There, weapon-spent and warrior-spent, may rest From roar of fields, — provided Jupiter Dare trust Saturnus to lie down so near His bolts! — and this he may; for, dispossessed The goat Jove sucked as likely to do harm. And yet Napoleon! - the recovered name Attesting that the Dead makes good his claim Blood fell like dew beneath his sunrise - sooth! Meridian light. He was a despot - granted! Said yea i' the people's French: he magnified The image of the freedom he denied. And if they asked for rights, he made reply, 'Ye have my glory!' — and so, drawing round them His ample purple, glorified and bound them. In an embrace that seemed identity. He ruled them like a tyrant — true! but none I do not praise this man: the man was flawed Within a sword-sweep — pshaw ! — but, since he had The genius to be loved, why, let him have I think this nation's tears thus poured together Grander than crownings, though a pope bless all. I think this grave stronger than thrones. But, whether The crowned Napoleon or the buried clay Be worthier, I discern not: angels may. THE FORCED RECRUIT. SOLFERINO, 1859. IN the ranks of the Austrian you found him, Venetian, fair-featured and slender, He lies shot to death in his youth, With a smile on his lips over-tender For any mere soldier's dead mouth. No stranger, and yet not a traitor, Though alien the cloth on his breast, By your enemy tortured and goaded As orphans yearn on to their mothers, If not in your ranks, by your hands! 'Aim straightly, fire steadily! spare me This badge of the Austrian away!' So thought he, so died he this morning. Ay, but easy for men to die scorning The death-stroke, who fought side by side |