Thence thro' the garden I was drawn- With dazed vision unawares After the fashion of the time, The fourscore windows all alight Of night new-risen, that marvellous time Of good Haroun Alraschid. Then stole I up, and trancedly Six columns, three on either side, Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold, Engarlanded and diaper'd With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold. Sole star of all that place and time, ODE TO MEMORY. ADDRESSED TO I. THOU who stealest fire, From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present; oh, haste, Visit my low desire ! Strengthen me, enlighten me! I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory. II. Come not as thou camest of late, On the white day; but robed in soften'd light Of orient state. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Even as a maid, whose stately brow The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, When, she, as thou, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits, Which in wintertide shall star The black earth with brilliance rare. III. Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, And with the evening cloud, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind, In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat Of the thick-fleeced sheep from wattled folds, Upon the ridged wolds, When the first matin-song hath waken'd The eddying of her garments caught from Over the dark dewy earth forlorn, thee The light of thy great presence; and the cope Of the half-attain'd futurity, Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud. V. Was cloven with the million stars which Large dowries doth the raptured eye Thou comest not with shows of flaunting That all which thou hast drawn of fairest vines Unto mine inner eye, Divinest Memory ! Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall A pillar of white light upon the wall The seven elms, the poplars four In every elbow and turn, With plaited alleys of the trailing rose, Long alleys falling down to twilight grots, Or opening upon level plots Of crowned lilies, standing near Whither in after life retired From weary wind, With youthful fancy re-inspired, And those whom passion hath not blinded, My friend, with you to live alone, O strengthen me, enlighten me! SONG. I. A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers: To himself he talks ; For at eventide, listening earnestly, At his work you may hear him sob and sigh In the walks; And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower A CHARACTER. He spake of beauty: that the dull Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair, He spake of virtue: not the gods Most delicately hour by hour Earthward he boweth the heavy Blew his own praises in his eyes, stalks Of the mouldering flowers : Heavily hangs the broad sunflower II. The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And stood aloof from other minds With lips depress'd as he were meek, THE POET. THE poet in a golden clime was born, Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love. He saw thro' life and death, thro' good And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise and ill, He saw thro' his own soul. The marvel of the everlasting will, An open scroll, Her beautiful bold brow, When rites and forms before his burning eyes Melted like snow. Before him lay: with echoing feet he❘ There was no blood upon her maiden robes Sunn'd by those orient skies; But round about the circles of the globes Of her keen eyes And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame WISDOM, a name to shake All evil dreams of power-a sacred name. And when she spake, Her words did gather thunder as they ran, And as the lightning to the thunder Which follows it, riving the spirit of man, Making earth wonder, So was their meaning to her words. sword No Of wrath her right arm whirl'd, But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word She shook the world. THE POET'S MIND. I. VEX not thou the poet's mind For thou canst not fathom it. Clear and bright it should be ever, So many minds did gird their orbs with Flowing like a crystal river; Bright as light, and clear as wind. II. Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear; All the place is holy ground; Hollow smile and frozen sneer Come not here. Holy water will I pour Into every spicy flower Of the laurel-shrubs that hedge it around. The flowers would faint at your cruel cheer. In your eye there is death, Where you stand you cannot hear Down shower the gambolling waterfalls In the heart of the garden the merry bird High over the full-toned sea : chants. It would fall to the ground if you came in. In the middle leaps a fountain With a low melodious thunder; And it sings a song of undying love; And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full, You never would hear it; your ears are so dull; So keep where you are: you are foul with O hither, come hither and furl your sails, Over the islands free; And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand; Hither, come hither and see; wave, And sweet is the colour of cove and cave, And sweet shall your welcome be : O hither, come hither, and be our lords, For merry brides are we : We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words: O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten Runs up the ridged sea. Who can light on as happy a shore THE DESERTED HOUSE. I. LIFE and Thought have gone away Leaving door and windows wide : Careless tenants they! |