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Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy light
Whether the object by reflected light
And though thou notest from thy safe recess
Old friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air, Love them for what they are; nor love them less, Because to thee they are not what they were.
PHANTOM OR FACT?
A DIALOGUE IN VERSE.
A LOVELY form there sate beside my bed,
But ah!-the change-It had not stirred, and yet-
This riddling tale, to what does it belong?
Or rather say at once, within what space
Call it a moment's work (and such it seems)
ALL look and likeness caught from earth,
All accident of kin and birth,
WORK WITHOUT HOPE.
LINES COMPOSED 21ST OF FEBRUARY, 1827.
ALL LL Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair
The bees are stirring-birds are on the wing-
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow, Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow,
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may, For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away! With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll: And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
YOUTH AND AGE
VERSE, a breeze mid blossoms straying,
When I was young?—Ah, woful when!
Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like ;
Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere,
Ere I was old!
Which tells me, Youth's no longer here!
It cannot be, that Thou art gone!
Dew-drops are the gems of morning,
That only serves to make us grieve
A DAY DREAM.
My eyes make pictures, when they are shut :— I see a fountain, large and fair,
A willow and a ruined hut,
And thee, and me, and Mary there.
O Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow!
Bend o'er us, like a bower, my beautiful green willow!
A wild-rose roofs the ruined shed, And that and summer well agree; And lo! where Mary leans her head, Two dear names carved upon the tree! And Mary's tears, they are not tears of sorrow; Our sister and our friend will both be here to
'Twas day! But now few, large, and bright The stars are round the crescent moon! And now it is a dark warm night.
The balmiest of the month of June.!
A glow-worm fallen, and on the marge remounting Shines and its shadow shines, fit stars for our sweet fountain.
O ever-ever be thou blest!
For dearly, Asra, love I thee!
This brooding warmth across my breast,
This depth of tranquil bliss-ah me!
Fount, tree, and shed are gone, I know not whither, But in one quiet room we three are still together.
The shadows dance upon the wall,
By the still dancing fire-flames made;
And now they slumber, moveless all!
And now they melt to one deep shade! But not from me shall this mild darkness steal thee: I dream thee with mine eyes, and at my heart I feel thee!