To One Beloved

And when the moon, of fairy stars the queen,
Waves her transparent wand o'er all the scene;
Years, years have pass'd,
I seek the vale,
My sweetest, since I heard thy voice's tone,
And, while inhaling the moss-rose's breath, —
Saying thou wouldst be mine and mine alone;
(Less sweet than thine, unmatch'd Elizabeth!)
Dark years have cast
A vision, pale
Their shadows on me, and my brow no more
As the far robes of seraphs in the night,
Smiles with the happy light that once it wore.
Rises before me with supernal light.
My heart is sere,
I seek the mount,
As a leaf toss'd upon the autumnal gale;
And there, in closest commune with the blue,
The early rose-hues of my life are pale,
Thy spiritual glances meet my view.
Its garden drear,
I seek the fount:
Its bower deserted, for my singing bird
And thou art my Egeria, and the glade
Among its dim retreats no more is heard.
Encircling it around is holier made.
O, trust them not
I seek the brook:
Who say that I have long forgotten thee,
And, in the silver shout of waters, hear
Or even now thou art not dear to me!
Thy merry, melting tones salute mine ear:
Though far my lot
And, in the look
From thine, and though Time's onward rolling tide
Of lilies floating from the flowery land,
May never bear me, dearest, to thy side.
See something soft and stainless as thy hand.
I would forget,
All things convey
Alas! I strive in vain — in dreams, in dreams
A likeness of my early, only love —
The radiance of thy glance upon me beams: —
All fairest things around, below, above:
No star has met
The foamy spray
My gaze for years whose beauty doth not shine,
Over the billow, and the bedded pearls,
Whose look of speechless love is not like thine!
And the light flag the lighter breeze unfurls.
The evening air —
For, in the grace
Soft witness of the floweret's fragrant death —
As well as in the beauty of the sea,
Strays not so sweetly to me as thy breath;
I find a true similitude to thee;
The moonlight fair
And I can trace
On snowy waste sleeps not with sweeter ray,
Thine image in the loveliness that dwells
Than thy clear memory on my heart's decay.
Mid inland forests and sequester'd dells.
I love thee still —
I am thine own,
And I shall love thee ever, and above
My dearest, though thou never mayst be mine;
All earthly objects with undying love.
I would not if I could the band untwine
The mountain-rill
Around me thrown —
Seeks, with no surer flow, the far, bright sea,
Since first I breathed to thee that word of fire —
Than my unchanged affection flows to thee.
Re-echo'd now, how feebly! by my lyre.
Love, constant love!
A year has flown,
Age cannot quench it — like the primal ray
My heart's best angel, since to thee I strung
From the vast fountain that supplies the day,
My frail, poetic lyre — since last I sung,
Far, far above
In faltering tone,
Our cloud-encircled region, it will flow
My love undying: though in all my dreams
As pure and as eternal in its glow.
Thy smiles have linger'd, like the stars in streams.
O, when I die
On ruffled wing,
(If until then thou mayst not drop a tear)
Like storm-toss'd bird, that year has sped away
Weep then for one to whom thou wert most dear;
Into the shadow'd past, and not a day
To whom thy sigh,
To me could bring
Denied in life, in death, if fondly given,
Familiar joys like those I knew of yore,
Will seem the sweetest incense-air of heaven!
But morn, and noon, and night, a sorrow bore.
in.
Alas, for Time!
Dost thou not turn,
For me his sickle reaps the harvest fair
Fairest and sweetest, from the flowery way
Of hopes that blossom'd in the summer air
On which thy feet are treading every day,
Of youth's sweet clime;
And seek to learn
But leaves to bloom the deeply-rooted tree
Tidings, sometimes, of him who loved thee well —
Which thou hast planted, deathless Memory!
More than his pen can write or tongue can tell!
Beneath its shade
Gaze not thine eyes
I muse, and muse alone — while daylight dies,
(O, wild and lustrous eyes, ye were my fate !)
Changing its dolphin hues in western skies,
Upon the lines he fashion'd not of late,
And when they fade.
But when the skies
Of joy were over him, and he was bless'd
That he could sing of treasures he possess'd?
Treasures more dear
Than gold in ingots, or barbaric piles
Of pearls and diamonds, thy most precious smiles!
Bring, bring me here,
O, ruthless Time, some of those treasures now,
And print a hundred wrinkles on my brow.
Make me grow old
Before my years are many — take away
Health, youth, ambition — let my strength decay,
My mind be sold
To be the slave of some strange, barren lore —
Only those treasures to my heart restore!
Ah! I implore
A boon that cannot be, a blessing flown,
Unto a realm so distant from my own,
That, could I soar
On eagle's wings, it still would be afar,
As if I strove by flight to reach a star!
The future vast
Before me lifts majestic steeps on high,
Which I must stand upon before I die!
For, in the past
Love buried lies; and nothing lives but fame
To speak unto the coming age my race and name.