(_For the Mirror_.)
I can think of thee! now that the light spring
Showers live in the rich breezes, and the dyes
Of the glad flowers are won from her blue eyes
Exulting; whilst loud songs, on the fleet wing
Of the Earth's seraphs, bear her welcoming
From it to heaven, and, up to the far skies,
From turf-born censers floods of incense rise.
I can think of thee in my wandering;
And when the heart leaps up within to bless
The sights of love and beauty, on each hand,--
The pouring-out of sky-sprung happiness
Over the dancing sea and the green land,
Thought wakes one saddening thrill of bitterness--
Thou canst not o'er this Eden smiling stand!
Yes! even as the quick glow of Spring's first smile
Is unto the renewed spirit,--even
As that abundant gush of wine from Heaven
Loosens the dreary grasp of Cares which coil
Round the lone heart like serpents,--the sweet toil
Of draining the dear dream-cup thou hast given
Is unto me,--and thoughts which long have striven
With joyousness, flit far away the while
My lips are prest to it. By the fire-light,
Or in full gaze of sun-set, when the choirs
Of winged minstrels, waking out of light,
Ring requiem meet to those departing fires--
Let me be with thee then--forgetting quite
The world, its scornfulness, and its desires.
O! I could weep for thee! and yet not tears
Of hopelessness, but triumph, and sit down
And weave for thee wet wild-flowers for a crown--
Then up, and sound rich music in thine ears;
And teach thee, that sweet lips, in coming years,
Shall lisp the songs which cold dull hearts disown,--
That all which hope could pant for is thine own,--
Dimmed, for a moment's space, with human fears.
Then watch the new-born glories in thine eye,
Glancing like lightning from its chariot cloud,
And list these words, which know not how to die,--
Joy's inspiration gushing forth aloud:
Then back again unto the world and sigh,
And wrap my heart up in a dusky shroud.