Song
And ere he spake a word
He seized my lady’s lily hand,
And kiss’d it all unheard.
And ere he spake a word
He kiss’d my lady’s cherry lips,
And kiss’d ’em all unheard.
But my lady first did go,—
Aye hand in hand into the bower
Where my lord’s roses blow.
And a golden ring had she,
And a kiss from the stranger, as off he went
Again on his fair palfrey.
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven’s blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,
My sudden adoration, my great love!
Faery Song
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! oh weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.
Dry your eyes! oh dry your eyes!
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies—
Shed no tear.
’Mong the blossoms white and red—
Look up, look up. I flutter now
On this flush pomegranate bough.
See me! ’tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man’s ill.
Shed no tear! Oh shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu!—I fly, adieu!
I vanish in the heaven’s blue—
Adieu! Adieu!
That I must chant thy lady’s dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of spring,
Of melody, and streams of flowery verge,—
Poor Silver-wing! ah! woe is me!
That I must see
These blossoms snow upon thy lady’s pall!
Go, pretty page, and in her ear
Whisper that the hour is near.
Softly tell her not to fear
Such calm favonian burial!
Go, pretty page! and soothly tell,—
The blossoms hang by a melting spell,
And fall they must ere a star wink thrice
Upon her closed eyes,
That now in vain are weeping their last tears
At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green,—
Rich dowry from the Spirit of the Spheres,—
Alas! poor Queen!
To Homer
Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.
So thou wast blind!—but then the veil was rent;
For Jove uncurtain’d Heaven to let thee live,
And Neptune made for thee a spermy tent,
And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;
Ay, on shores of darkness there is light,
And precipices show untrodden green;
There is a budding morrow in midnight;
There is a triple sight in blindness keen;
Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel,
To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.
Faery Song
Spirit here that painest!
Spirit here that burnest!
Spirit here that mournest!
Spirit! I bow
My forehead low,
Enshaded with thy pinions!
Spirit! I look,
All passion-struck,
Into thy pale dominions!
Spirit here that quaffest!
Spirit here that dancest!
Noble soul that prancest!
Spirit!
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