Berenice

I would that I could lay me at thy feet,
And with a bosom, warm with rapture, greet
The rose-like fragrance of thy odorous sighs,
Drinking, with dazzled eyes,
The radiant glory of a face
Which, even in dreams, adorns the Italian skies
Of passionate love — the Astarte of their space!
This, in some quiet, column'd chamber, where
The glare of sunlight dies, yet all is light;
With all around us ruddy, rich, and rare —
Books red with gold, and mirrors diamond-bright,
And choicest paintings, and rich flowers which bear
Their beauty,bloom, and fragrance, day and night,
And stately statues, white as gods, between
The scarlet blossoms and the leaves of green,
With all that Art creates, and Fancy rears,
And Genius snatches from supernal spheres.
All day, all day, dear love, would I lie there,
With elbow sunk in some soft ottoman,
Feeling far more than man,
Breathing the fragrance of the enchanted air
Swimming around thee; while, with book in hand,
I would unfold to thee the ancient sages —
Poet's, like Chauceb's, quaint, delicious pages,
And wander thoughtfully through the poet's land —
Through it by night — a calm, unclouded night,
Full of sweet dreams.
By murmurous streams,
Sparkling with starry gleams,
We'd pause, entranced by Dian's amber light,
And watch the Nereid rising from the wave,
Or see the Oread lave
Her faultless feet in lucid ripples, white
As Indian ivory with the milky ray,
Trembling around their forms in liquid play.
Then to some tall old wood, beneath old trees,
Which, in the primal hours,
Gave birth to flowers
Fairer than those which jewell'd Grecian leas
What time the Dryads woo'd the summer breeze.
We'd seek some mossy bank, and sit, and scan
The stars, forgetting earth and man,
And all that is of earth, and watch the spheres,
And dream we heard their music; and, with tears
Born of our bliss, arise, and walk again,
Languid with passion's epicurean pain.
Treading the feather'd grasses,
Through misty, moonlit passes,
On, on, along some vernal, verdant plain
Our steps should falter, while the linnet's strain
Made music for our feet, and, keeping time,
Our hearts replied with gentle chime,
As our souls throbb'd responsive to the rhyme
Of perfect love, which Nature murmur'd round,
Making earth holy ground,
And as the gods who ruled all things we saw.
Then giving way to mad imaginings
Born of the time and place —
The perfume which pervaded space,
The natural emotions of our race —
We'd vow that love should be the only law
Henceforth for earth; that even the rudest things
Should love and be beloved: while we,
The Adam and Eve, should sit enthroned, and see
All earth an Eden, and with thankful eyes
Reverence God in our new paradise.