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He saddens, all the magic light
Dies off at once from bower and hall, And all the place is dark, and all The chambers emptied of delight.
So find I every pleasant spot
In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street, For all is dark, where thou art not.
Yet as that other, wandering there
In those deserted walks, may find A flower beat with rain and wind, Which once she fostered up with care;
So seems it in my deep regret,
O my forsaken heart, with thee,
But since it pleased a vanished eye,
FAIR ship, that from the Italian shore
With my lost Arthur's loved remains, Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er!
So draw him home to those that mourn,
Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead
All night no ruder air perplex
Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright
As our pure love, through early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks!
Sphere all your lights around, above;
Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow; Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, My friend, the brother of my love I
My Arthur! whom I shall not see
Till all my widowed race be run; Dear as the mother to the son, More than my brothers are to me!
I HEAR the noise about thy keel;
I see the sailor at the wheel.
Thou bringest the sailor to his wife;
And travelled men from foreign lands ;
So bring him: we have idle dreams:
To rest beneath the clover sod,
That takes the sunshine and the rains,
The chalice of the grapes of God,
Than if with thee the roaring wells
Should gulf him fathom deep in brine; And hands so often clasped in mine Should toss with tangle and with shells.
CALM is the morn, without a sound,
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
That twinkle into green and gold:
Calm and still light on yon great plain,
That sweeps, with all its autumn bowers,
To mingle with the bounding main :
Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
If any calm, a calm despair:
Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
And waves that sway themselves in rest, And dead calm in that noble breast Which heaves but with the heaving deep.
Lo! as a dove when up she springs,
To bear through Heaven a tale of woe,
The wild pulsation of her wings;
Like her I go I cannot stay;
I leave this mortal ark behind,
O'er ocean mirrors rounded large,
And linger weeping on the marge,
And saying, “Comes he thus, my friend?
And circle moaning in the air:
"Is this the end? Is this the end?"
And forward dart again, and play
TEARS of the widower, when he sees
Which weep a loss forever new,
A void where heart on heart reposed; And, where warm hands have pressed and closed,
Silence, till I be silent too.
Which weep the comrade of my choice,
A spirit, not a breathing voice.
Come, Time, and teach me many years
For now so strange do these things seem Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;
My fancies time to rise on wing,
And glance about the approaching sails, As though they brought but merchants' bales, And not the burthen that they bring.
F one should bring me this report,
And standing, muffled round with woe,
And if along with these should come
And I should tell him all my pain,
And how my life had drooped of late,
And I perceive no touch of change,
TO-NIGHT the winds begin to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day;
The rooks are blown about the skies;