Fixed-then as slowly fade again,
And draw itself to what it was before; So full, so deep, so slow, Thought seems to come and go In thy large eyes, imperial Eleänore.
As thunderclouds that, hung on high,
Roofed the world with doubt and fear, Floating through an evening atmosphere, Grow golden all about the sky;
In thee all passion becomes passionless, Touched by thy spirit's mellowness, Losing his fire and active might In a silent meditation,
Falling into a still delight,
And luxury of contemplation:
As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and lying still
Shadow forth the banks at will; Or sometimes they swell and move, Pressing up against the land, With motions of the outer sea: And the selfsame influence
Controlleth all the soul and sense Of Passion gazing upon thee. His bowstring slackened, languid Love, Leaning his cheek upon his hand, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, And so would languish evermore, Serene, imperial Eleänore.
But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, While the amorous, odorous wind
Breathes low between the sunset and the moon } Or, in a shadowy saloon,
On silken cushions half reclined;
I watch thy grace; and in its place My heart a charmed slumber keeps, While I muse upon thy face;
And a languid fire creeps Through my veins to all my frame,
Dissolvingly and slowly soon,
From thy rose-red lips My name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon,
With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth,
I lose my color, I lose
my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death,
Brimmed with delirious draughts of warmest life I die with my delight, before
I hear what I would hear from thee;
Yet tell my name again to me. I would be dying evermore,
So dying ever, Eleänore.
I SEE the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, And who that knew him could forget The busy wrinkles round his eyes? The slow wise smile that, round about His dusty forehead dryly curled, Seemed half-within and half-without, And full of dealings with the world?
In yonder chair I see him sit,
Three fingers round the old silver cup- I see his gray eyes twinkle yet
At his own jest gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul
So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole, His memory scarce can make me sad.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: My own sweet Alice, we must die.
There's somewhat in this world amiss Shall be unriddled by and by. There's somewhat flows to us in life, But more is taken quite away. Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife, That we may die the selfsame day.
Have I not found a happy earth? I least should breathe a thought of pain.. Would God renew me from my birth I'd almost live my life again.
So sweet it seems with thee to walk, And once again to woo thee mine- It seems in after-dinner talk
Across the walnuts and the wine
To be the long and listless boy Late left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you
Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken through By some wild skylark's matin song.
And oft I heard the tender dove
In firry woodlands making moan; But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own. For scarce my life with fancy played Before I dreamed that pleasant dreamStill hither thither idly swayed
Like those long mosses in the stream.
Or from the bridge I leaned to hear The mill-dam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers, when they sprung
Below the range of stepping stones, And those three chestnuts near, that hung In masses thick with milky cones.
But, Alice, what an hour was that, When, after roving in the woods, ('Twas April then,) I came and sat Below the chestnuts, when their buds Were glistening to the breezy blue; And on the slope, an absent fool, I cast me down, nor thought of you, But angled in the higher pool.
A love-song I had somewhere read, An echo from a measured strain, Beat time to nothing in my head From somed corner of the brain. It haunted in, the morning long, With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song,
That went and came a thousand times.
Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood I watched the little circles die; They past into the level flood,
And there a vision caught my eye; The reflex of a beauteous form,
A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm Within the dark and dimpled beck.
For you remember, you had set, That morning, on the casement's edge A long green box of mignonette,
And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above They met with two so full and bright- Such eyes! I swear to you, my love,
That these have never lost their light.
I loved, and love dispelled the fear That I should die an early death: For love possessed the atmosphere, And filled the breast with purer breath. My mother thought, What ails the boy? For I was altered, and began To move about the house with joy, And with the certain step of man.
I loved the brimming wave that swam Through quiet meadows round the mill, The sleepy pool above the dam,
The pool beneath it never still, The meal-sacks on the whitened floor, The dark round of the dripping wheel, The very air about the door
Made misty with the floating meal.
And oft in ramblings on the wold, When April nights began to blow, And April's crescent glimmered cold, I saw the village lights below; I knew your taper far away,
And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay Upon the freshly-flowered slope.
The deep brook groaned beneath the mill; And "by that lamp," I thought," she sits! The white chalk-quarry from the hill Gleamed to the flying moon by fits. "O that I were beside her now! O will she answer if I call? O would she give me vow for vow, Sweet Alice, if I told her all?”
Sometimes I saw you sit and spin; And, in the pauses of the wind, Sometimes I heard you sing within;
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