ADELINE I MYSTERY of mysteries, Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor all divine, Nor unhappy, nor at rest, 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 ? II Whence that aery bloom of thine, And a rose-bush leans upon, Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, III What hope or fear or joy is thine? Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own? Hast thou heard the butterflies With what voice the violet woos Or when little airs arise, IV Some honey-converse feeds thy mind, What aileth thee? whom waitest thou With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow, And those dew-lit eyes of thine, Thou faint smiler, Adeline? V Lovest thou the doleful wind When thou gazest at the skies? Doth the low-tongued Orient Wander from the side of the morn On thy pillow, lowly bent With melodious airs lovelorn, Breathing Light against thy face, While his locks a-drooping twined Round thy neck in subtle ring Make a carcanet of rays, And ye talk together still, In the language wherewith Spring MARGARET First printed in 1833; reprinted with slight changes (see Notes) in 1842. I O SWEET pale Margaret, Of pensive thought and aspect pale, From all things outward you have won A tearful grace, as tho' you stood Between the rainbow and the sun. The very smile before you speak, That dimples your transparent cheek, Encircles all the heart, and feedeth The senses with a still delight Of dainty sorrow without sound, Like the tender amber round Which the moon about her spreadeth Moving thro' a fleecy night. II You love, remaining peacefully, To hear the murmur of the strife, ROSALIND Printed in 1833, but suppressed until 1884 See Notes. I MY Rosalind, my Rosalind, My frolic falcon, with bright eyes, Stoops at all game that wing the skies, My bright-eyed, wild-eyed falcon, whither, II The quick lark's closest-caroll'd strains, III Come down, come home, my Rosalind, And clip your wings, and make you love. From North to South, We'll bind you fast in silken cords, ELEÄNORE Reprinted in 1842 from the 1833 volume. See Notes. I THY dark eyes open'd not, Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighborhood Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breezes from our oaken glades, 10 But thou wert nursed in some delicious land Of lavish lights, and floating shades; And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought, At the moment of thy birth, From old well-heads of haunted rills, The choicest wealth of all the earth, II Or the yellow-banded bees, Thro' half-open lattices Coming in the scented breeze, Fed thee, a child, lying alone, 20 With whitest honey in fairy gardens cull'd A glorious child, dreaming alone, In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, Into dreamful slumber lull'd. III Who may minister to thee? Summer herself should minister 30 To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded All along the shadowing shore, IV How may full-sail'd verse express, The luxuriant symmetry Of thy floating gracefulness, And the steady sunset glow To one another, even as tho' To an unheard melody, Which lives about thee, and a sweep Of richest pauses, evermore Drawn from each other mellow-deep; Who may express thee, Eleänore? V I stand before thee, Eleänore; 40 50 60 I see thy beauty gradually unfold, 70 Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while Slowly, as from a cloud of gold, Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. I muse, as in a trance, whene'er The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee for evermore, Serene, imperial Eleänore! 80 As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, In thee all passion becomes passionless, In a silent meditation, Falling into a still delight, And luxury of contemplation. As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and lying still His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love, VIII 100 110 120 But when I see thee roam, with tresses un confined, While the amorous odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and the moon; Or, in a shadowy saloon, On silken cushions half reclined; I watch thy grace, and in its place Kate saith the world is void of might.' Kate saith the men are gilded flies.' Kate snaps her fingers at my vows; Kate will not hear of lovers' sighs. I would I were an armed knight, Far-famed for well-won enterprise, And wearing on my swarthy brows The garland of new-wreathed emprise; For in a moment I would pierce The blackest files of clanging fight, And strongly strike to left and right, |