MY delight and thy delight
Walking, like two angels white,
In the gardens of the night:
My desire and thy desire
Twining to a tongue of fire,
Leaping live, and laughing higher:
Thro the everlasting strife
In the mystery of life.
Love, from whom the world begun,
secret of the sun.
Love can tell, and love alone,
Whence the million stars were strewn,
Why each atom knows its
How, in spite of woe and death,
Gay is life, and sweet is breath:
This he taught us, this we knew,
Happy in his science true,
Hand in hand as we stood
the shadows of the wood,
Heart to heart as we lay
In the dawning of the day.
ANGEL spirits of sleep,
White-robed, with silver hair,
In your meadows fair,
Where the willows
And the sad moonbeam
On the gliding stream
Writes her scatterd dream:
Angel spirits of sleep,
Dancing to the weir
In the hollow roar
Of its waters deep;
Know ye how
That ye haunt no more
Isle and grassy shore
With your moonlit play;
That ye dance not here,
robed spirits of sleep,
All the summer night
Threading dances light?
BEAUTIFUL must be the mountains whence ye come,
And bright in the fruitful valleys the
Ye learn your song:
Where are those starry woods? O might I wander there,
the flowers, which in that heavenly air
Bloom the year long!
Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams:
Our song is the voice of desire, that
haunts our dreams,
A throe of the heart,
Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound,
cadence nor long sigh can sound,
For all our art.
Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men
We pour our dark nocturnal secret; and then,
From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of
Dream, while the innumerable
choir of day
Welcome the dawn.
WHITHER, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,
Leaning across the bosom of the urgent
That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,
Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
when Winter has all our vales opprest,
When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling,
Wilt thoàu glide
on the blue Pacific, or rest
In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling.
I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest,
Already arrived am inhaling the
I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest,
And anchor queen of the strange shipping
Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare:
Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-cappd
Peak, that is over the feathery palms, more fair
Than thou, so upright, so stately and still thou
And yet, O splendid ship, unhaild and nameless,
I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine
thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless,
Thy port assured in a happier land than mine.
But for all