« PrécédentContinuer »
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Death will come when thou art dead,
Sleep will come when thou art fled.
FROM THE ARABIC.
My faint spirit was sitting in the light
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
Or the death they bear,
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
It may bring to thee.
TO EMILIA VIVIANI.
MADONNA, wherefore hast thou sent to me
Embleming love and health, which never yet
Alas, and they are wet!
Is it with thy kisses or thy tears?
For never rain or dew
Such fragrance drew
From plant or flower.
My sadness ever new,
The very doubt endears
The sighs I breathe, the tears I shed, for thee.
UNFATHOMABLE Sea, whose waves are years!
Thou shoreless flood which in thy ebb and flow
And, sick of prey yet howling on for more, Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore! Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, Who shall put forth on thee, Unfathomable Sea?
FAR, far away, O ye
Seek some far calmer nest
And from isle, tower, and rock,
From the lee.
And "Fear'st thou?" and "Fear'st thou ?"
And "Seest thou?" and "Hear'st thou ?" And "Drive we not free
O'er the terrible sea,
I and thou?"
One boat-cloak did cover
The loved and the lover;
Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
While around the lashed ocean,
In the court of the fortress
Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
On the topmost watch-turret,
Stands the grey tyrant father;
And, with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast
The best, loveliest, and last,
Of his name.
MUSIC, when soft voices die,
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
RARELY, rarely comest thou,
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again? With the joyous and the free,
Thou wilt scoff at pain. Spirit false thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed;
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.
Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure ;— Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.