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[First published 1849. Reprinted 1853.]
THEY are gone: all is still: Foolish heart, dost thou quiver? | |
| Nothing moves on the lawn but the quick lilac shade. | |
| Far up gleams the house, and beneath flows the river. | |
| Here lean, my head, on this cool balustrade. | |
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| Ere he come: ere the boat, by the shining-branch’d border | 5 |
| Of dark elms come round, dropping down the proud stream; | |
| Let me pause, let me strive, in myself find some order, | |
| Ere their boat-music sound, ere their broider’d flags gleam. | |
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| Is it hope makes me linger? the dim thought, that sorrow | |
| Means parting? that only in absence lies pain? | 10 |
| It was well with me once if I saw him: to-morrow | |
| May bring one of the old happy moments again. | |
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| Last night we stood earnestly talking together— | |
| She enter’d—that moment his eyes turn’d from me. | |
| Fasten’d on her dark hair and her wreath of white heather— | 15 |
| As yesterday was, so to-morrow will be. | |
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| Their love, let me know, must grow strong and yet stronger, | |
| Their passion burn more, ere it ceases to burn: | |
| They must love—while they must: But the hearts that love longer | |
| Are rare: ah! most loves but flow once, and return. | 20 |
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| I shall suffer; but they will outlive their affection: | |
| I shall weep; but their love will be cooling: and he, | |
| As he drifts to fatigue, discontent, and dejection, | |
| Will be brought, thou poor heart! how much nearer to thee! | |
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| For cold is his eye to mere beauty, who, breaking | 25 |
| The strong band which beauty around him hath furl’d, | |
| Disenchanted by habit, and newly awaking, | |
| Looks languidly round on a gloom-buried world. | |
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| Through that gloom he will see but a shadow appearing, | |
| Perceive but a voice as I come to his side: | 30 |
| But deeper their voice grows, and nobler their bearing, | |
| Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died. | |
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| Then—to wait. But what notes down the wind, hark! are driving? | |
| ’Tis he! ’tis the boat, shooting round by the trees! | |
| Let my turn, if it will come, be swift in arriving! | 35 |
| Ah! hope cannot long lighten torments like these. | |
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| Hast thou yet dealt him, O Life, thy full measure? | |
| World, have thy children yet bow’d at his knee? | |
| Hast thou with myrtle-leaf crown’d him, O Pleasure? | |
| Crown, crown him quickly, and leave him for me. | 40 |
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