Early Love

Now sweet, now bitter waters, night and day.
Anguish and joy, strong radiant righteousness,
With sin malformed, and folly, motley crew,
Stream from Thy bosom all impartially !
We know not ; but of old a Man who bore
Upon His shoulder the world's weight of woe,
Whom men name wisest. He announced
Thee Father,
Praying, "Not My will, but Thine own be done ! "
Yea, and through mystic change, or swift or slow.
Within the general bosom, and in ours,
Faith's inarticulate reason may grow clear
Fair utterable vision : the wild dance,
The strange phantasmagory of ill-dream,
Named sin and sorrow, may appear birthpangs
Of life consummate, else impossible !

Therefore, dear birds, in leafy woods ye warble,
And you, my children, by the rivulet
Play, laughing merrily, because the world
Is sound at heart, howe'er it seems to ail.
God-fronted, dragon-trained, 'tis but a marred
Image in souls, who travail yet ungrown.
Who, ruffled, slowly waver into rest.
And why we arise or fall, no mortal knows,
Save that by change alone the unchanged abides ;
Love breathes amid the ruin of red wrong.
For a moment only of our infinite life
With one wild wing-pulse cleaving earth's rent air,
Oh I lift we one another from this hell
Of blindly-battling ignorance to God !
Our early love was only dream !
Still a dream too fair for earth,
Hallowed in a faint far gleam,
Where the fairest flowers have birth,
Let it rest ! no stain e'er trouble
Magic murmur, limpid bubble !
There two spirits in the calm
Of moonlight memory may go,
Finding pure refreshing balm,
When life traileth wounded, slow.
Along dim ways of common dust.
As dull lives of mortals must.

Early love, fair fount of waters.
Ever by enchantment flowing.
Where two snakes, her innocent daughters,
Were wont to swim among the blowing,
Wilding flowers thou knowest well.
In the wood of our sweet spell !

Never Fear found out the place,
Never eyes nor feet profane !
Of our innocent youth and grace
Love was born ; if born to wane,
We will keep remembrance holy
From the soil of care and folly.

No weariness of life made wise,
No canker in the youngling bud,
No lustre failing from our eyes,
Nor ardour paling in the blood !
Neither ever seemed less fair
To the other playing there.

Still asleep, we drift asunder,
Who met and loved but in a dream ;
Nor kissing closely, woke to wonder
Why we are not what we seem !
Fairy bloom dies when we press
Wings young zephyr may caress.

Fare you well ! more might have been !
Nay, we know more might not be !
A moment only I may lean
On your bosom, ere you flee,
Ere the weary sultry day
Hide my morning and my May !

Yet a fairy fountain glistens
Under soft moon-lighted leaves,
And my wistful spirit listens
For a voice that glows and grieves,
Breathing, when my heart would fail,
Youth from yonder fairy vale,
Where sings a nightingale.