Being an humble imitation of the style of some modern poets, by the
prism of whose fancy the most common objects are invested with the
hues of poesy, even as the sunbeam turneth to diamonds the dews which
heedless night hath flung over the earth.
There is more in thy history than meets
The eye of cold observance. Had'st thou words
To speak imprisoned secrets, how would all
Thy silent, chiselled labyrinths resound
With thought transcending eloquence! Deep things—
The passionate breathings of a hidden voice,
And young and fond imaginings that swell
The fountains of a yet untroubled soul,
Ere to the world its flowings have gone forth—
Thou hast been witness to. Thou hast reposed,
Pressed by a pearly hand, upon a brow
Stainless and lofty; and thou hast been worn
When the full tide of youth and loveliness
Coursed wildly through her heart, o'erlooking all
Her regal swanlike grace; moved when she moved,
In blest obedience—perchance hast stooped
To watch the speakings of her mantling cheek,
And felt the haughtiest tossings of a head
Whose classic beauty might a Phidias shame.
And when the hour of twilight musings came
And thy fair mistress in the leafy bower,
Or by the curtained casement, lay entranced
In all the dreamy luxury of thought,
When the soft odors of the sleeping flowers
Stole forth on dewy wing to visit her,
And bathe her brow in sweetness—when she looked
To the far, quiet stars, that glanced abroad
In silent, glorious beauty—thou hast strayed
Carelessly through the long fair locks that lay
Like a sun-kindled cloud across her neck:
Lifting each half unconscious tress in pride,
Fondly and lingeringly entwining it,
As loth to quit thy lovely resting place.
And thou art—aye, sweet shell—more favored far
To owe thy polish to her gentle touch,
Than the most honored worshipper who kneels
Before her shrine: than he who holds thee now
Betwixt a reverential thumb and finger,
Absorbed in admiration of thy worth.
_New York, 1836._