Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen: Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail: And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
AND thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
And forms so soft and charms so rare Too soon return'd to Earth! Though Earth received them in her bed, And o'er the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low Nor gaze upon the spot;
There flowers or weeds at will may grow So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last, As fervently as thou
Who didst not change through all the past And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine:
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours, Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep;
Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have pass'd away
I might have watch'd through long decay.
The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Must fall the earliest prey; Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, The leaves must drop away.
And yet it were a greater grief To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, Than see it pluck'd today; Since earthly eye but ill can bear To trace the change to foul from fair.
I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade;
The night that follow'd such a morn Had worn a deeper shade:
Thy day without a cloud hath past, And thou wert lovely to the last,
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;
As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed To think I was not near, to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed: To gaze, how fondly! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head; And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again.
Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain Than thus remember thee! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears Than aught except its living years.
WHEN WE TWO PARTED
WHEN We two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this!
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow;
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken And share in its shame.
They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me- Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met: In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.
THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like Thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY
SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow But tell of days in goodness spent,-
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
O TALK not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.
What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary- What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?
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