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It gleams betrayed and to betray.
Noon descends around me now.
Mingling light and fragrance, far
Where the infant Frost has trodden
With his morning-winged feet
The rough dark-skirted wilderness;
By the glory of the sky :
Which from heaven like dew doth fall,
Noon descends; and after noon
Half the crimson light she brings
To that silent isle which lies
'Mid remembered agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being)
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing;
And its ancient pilot, Pain,
Other flowering isles must be
To some calm and blooming cove;
And soft sunshine, and the sound
And the light and smell divine
Of all flowers that breathe and shine.
But their rage would be subdued
By that clime divine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm
On the uplifted soul, and leaves
Under which the bright sea heaves;
While each breathless interval
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
With its own deep melodies,
And the love which heals all strife,
All things in that sweet abode
With its own mild brotherhood.
They, not it, would change; and soon
Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.
WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES.
THE sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright;
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The breath of the moist earth is light Around its unexpanded buds ;
Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds', the birds', the ocean floods', The city's voice itself, is soft like Solitude's.
I see the deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple sea-weeds strown ;
I see the waves upon the shore,
Like light dissolved, in star-showers thrown.
The lightning of the noontide ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion,
How sweet, did any heart now share in my emotion!
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
And walked with inward glory crowned;
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;— To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Yet now despair itself is mild,
Even as the winds and waters are;
I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care
Which I have borne and yet must bear,— Till death like sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air
My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
Some might lament that I were cold,
As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan.
They might lament-for I am one
Unlike this day, which, when the sun
Shall on its stainless glory set,
Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet.
COME, be happy,-sit near me,
Coy, unwilling, silent bride,
Come, be happy,-sit near me :
Misery! we have known each other,
Living in the same lone home,
Many years: we must live some
Hours or ages yet to come.
'Tis an evil lot, and yet
Let us make the best of it;
If love can live when pleasure dies,
Come, be happy,-lie thee down