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The air is damp, and hush'd, and close,
An hour before death ;
And the breath
of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose.
Heavily hangs the broad sunflower
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.
MYSTERY of mysteries,
Faintly smiling Adeline,
But beyond expression fair
With thy floating flaxen hair ; Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes
Take the heart from out my breast. Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ?
Whence that aery bloom of thine,
Like a lily which the sun Looks thro' in his sad decline,
And a rose-bush leans upon, Thou that faintly smilest still,
As a Naiad in a well, Looking at the set of day, Or a phantom two hours old
Of a maiden past away,
Spiritual Adeline ?
What hope or fear or joy is thine ?
Do beating hearts of salient springs
Hast thou heard the butterflies
Or in stillest evenings
Or when little airs arise,
To the mosses underneath ?
Of the lilies at sunrise ? .
Some honey-converse feeds thy mind,
Some spirit of a crimson rose
His curtains, wasting odorous sighs All night long on darkness blind. What aileth thee? whom waitest thou With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow,
And those dew-lit eyes of thine,
Lovest thou the doleful wind
When thou gazest at the skies?
Dripping with Sabæan spice
With melodious airs lovelorn,
Round thy neck in subtle ring
And ye talk together still,
Letters cowslips on the hill ?
WITH a half-glance upon the sky
He spake of beauty : that the dull
He spake of virtue : not the gods