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Ah what the form divine!

  What every virtue, every grace!

  Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

  Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes

  May weep, but never see,

  A night of memories and of sighs

  I consecrate to thee.

  3

  FROM SAPPHO

  Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;

  My fingers ache, my lips are dry:

  Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!

  But Oh! who ever felt as I?

  No longer could I doubt him true;

  All other men may use deceit:

  He always said my eyes were blue,

  And often swore my lips were sweet.

  4

  FROM ALCAEUS

  Wormwood and rue be on his tongue

  And ashes on his head,

  Who chills the feast and checks the song

  With emblems of the dead!

  By young and jovial, wise and brave,

  Such mummers are derided.

  His sacred rites shall Bacchus have,

  Unspared and undivided.

  Coucht by my friends, I fear no mask

  Impending from above,

  I only fear the later flask

  That holds me from my love.

  5

  CORINNA TO TANAGRA

  Tanagra! think not I forget

  Thy beautifully-storied streets:

  Be sure my memory bathes yet

  In clear Thermodon, and yet greets

  The blythe and liberal shepherd-boy,

  Whose sunny bosom swells with joy

  When we accept his matted rushes

  Upheav’d with sylvan fruit; away he bounds, and blushes.

  I promise to bring back with me

  What thou with transport wilt receive,

  The only proper gift for thee,

  Of which no mortal shall bereave

  In later times thy mouldering walls,

  Until the last old turret falls;

  A crown, a crown from Athens won,

  A crown no God can wear, beside Latona’s son.

  There may be cities who refuse

  To their own child the honours due,

  And look ungently on the Muse;

  But ever shall those cities rue

  The dry, unyielding, niggard breast,

  Offering no nourishment, no rest,

  To that young head which soon shall rise

  Disdainfully, in might and glory, to the skies.

  Sweetly where cavernt’d Dirce flows

  Do white-arm’d maidens chaunt my lay,

  Flapping the while with laurel-rose

  The honey-gathering tribes away;

  And sweetly, sweetly, Attick tongues

  Lisp your Corinna’s early songs;

  To her with feet more graceful come

  The verses that have dwelt in kindred breasts at home.

  O let thy children lean aslant

  Against the tender mother’s knee,

  And gaze into her face, and want

  To know what magic there can be

  In words that urge some eyes to dance,

  While others as in holy trance

  Look up to heaven; be such my praise!

  Why linger? I must haste, or lose the Delphick bays.

  6

  PROGRESS OF EVENING

  From yonder wood mark blue-eyed Eve proceed:

  First through the deep and warm and secret glens,

  Through the pale-glimmering privet-scented lane,

  And through those alders by the river-side:

  Now the soft dust impedes her, which the sheep

  Have hollow’d out beneath their hawthorn shade.

  But ah! look yonder! see a misty tide

  Rise up the hill, lay low the frowning grove,

  Enwrap the gay white mansion, sap its sides

  Until they sink and melt away like chalk;

  Now it comes down against our village tower,

  Covers its base, floats o’er its arches, tears

  The clinging ivy from the battlements,

  Mingles in broad embrace the obdurate stone,

  (All one vast ocean) and goes swelling on

  In slow and silent, dim and deepening waves.

  7

  INVOCATION TO SLEEP

  Sleep! who contractest the waste realms of night,

  None like the wretched can extoll thy powers:

  We think of thee when thou art far away,

  We hold thee dearer than the light of day,

  And most when Love forsakes us wish thee ours …

  O hither bend thy flight!

  Silent and welcome as the blessed shade

  Alcestis, to the dark Thessalian hall.

  When Hercules and Death and Hell obeyed

  Her husband’s desolate despondent call.

  What fiend would persecute thee, gentle Sleep,

  Or beckon thee away from man’s distress?

  Needless it were to warn thee of the stings

  That pierce my pillow, now those waxen wings

  Which bore me to the sun of happiness,

  Have dropt into the deep.

  8

  Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throes

  Of anger long burst forth;

  Inconstantly the south-wind blows,

  But steadily the north.

  Thy star, O Venus! often changes

  Its radiant seat above,

  The chilling pole-star never ranges—

  ’Tis thus with Hate and Love.

  9

  Past ruin’d Ilion Helen lives,

  Alcestis rises from the shades;

  Verse calls them forth; ’tis verse that gives

  Immortal youth to mortal maids.

  Soon shall Oblivion’s deepening veil

  Hide all the peopled hills you see,

  The gay, the proud, while lovers hail

  These many summers you and me.

  10

  Mild is the parting year, and sweet

  The odour of the falling spray;

  Life passes on more rudely fleet,

  And balmless is its closing day.

  I wait its close, I court its gloom,

  But mourn that never must there fall

  Or on my breast or on my tomb

  The tear that would have soothed it all.

  11

  DIRCE

  Stand close around, ye Stygian set,

  With Dirce in one boat conveyed!

  Or Charon, seeing, may forget

  That he is old and she a shade.

  12

  LINES TO A DRAGON FLY

  Life (priest and poet say) is but a dream;

  I wish no happier one than to be laid

  Beneath some cool syringa’s scented shade

  Or wavy willow, by the running stream,

  Brimful of Moral, where the Dragon Fly

  Wanders as careless and content as I.

  Thanks for this fancy, insect king,

  Of purple crest and filmy wing,

  Who with indifference givest up

  The water-lily’s golden cup,

  To come again and overlook

  What I am writing in my book.

  Believe me, most who read the line

  Will read with hornier eyes than thine;

  And yet their souls shall live for ever,

  And thine drop dead into the river!

  God pardon them. O insect king,

  Who fancy so unjust a thing!

  13

  CLEONE TO ASPASIA

  We mind not how the sun in the mid-sky

  Is hastening on: but when the golden orb

  Strikes the extreme of earth, and when the gulphs

  Of air and ocean open to receive him,

  Dampness and gloom invade us; then we think

  Ah! thus it is with Youth. Too fast his feet

  Run on for sight: hour follows hour: fair maid

  Succeeds fair maid
; bright eyes bestar his couch;

  The cheerful horn awakens him; the feast,

  The revel, the entangling dance, allure,

  And voices mellower than the Muse’s own

  Heave up his buoyant bosom on their wave.

  A little while, and then … Ah Youth! dear Youth!

  Listen not to my words … but stay with me!

  When thou art gone, Life may go too: the sigh

  That follows is for thee, and not for Life.

  14

  We hurry to the river we must cross,

  And swifter downward every footstep wends;

  Happy, who reach it ere they count the loss

  Of half their faculties and half their friends!

  15

  In Clementina’s artless mien

  Lucilla asks me what I see,

  And are the roses of sixteen

  Enough for me?

  Lucilla asks, if that be all,

  Have I not cull’d as sweet before …

  Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall

  I still deplore.

  I now behold another scene,

  Where Pleasure beams with heaven’s own light.

  More pure, more constant, more serene,

  And not less bright …

  Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose,

  Whose chain of flowers no force can sever,

  And Modesty who, when she goes,

  Is gone for ever.

  16

  ON A QUAKER’S TANKARD

  Ye lie, friend Pindar! and friend Thales!—

  Nothing so good as water? Ale is.

  17

  On love, on grief, on every human thing,

  Time sprinkles Lethe’s water with his wing.

  18

  Naturally, as fall upon the ground

  The leaves in winter and the girls in spring.

  19

  Demophilè rests here: we will not say

  That she was aged, lest ye turn away;

  Nor that she long had suffered: early woes

  Alone can touch you; go, and pity those!

  20

  TO BURNS

  Had we two met, blithe-hearted Burns,

  Tho water is my daily drink,

  May God forgive me but I think

  We should have roared out toasts by turns.

  Inquisitive low-whispering cares

  Had found no room in either pate,

  Until I asked thee, rather late,

  ‘Is there a hand-rail to the stairs?’

  21

  The mermaid sat upon the rocks

  All day long,

  Admiring her beauty and combing her locks,

  And singing a mermaid song.

  And hear the mermaid’s song you may,

  As sure as sure can be,

  If you will but follow the sun all day,

  And souse with him into the sea.

  22

  TO PRIAPUS

  Niconöe is inclined to deck

  Thy ruddy shoulders and thick neck

  With her own fawn-skin, Lampsacene!

  Beside, she brings a golden ewer

  To cool thy hands in, very sure

  Among what herbage they have been.

  Ah! thou hast wicked leering eyes,

  And any maiden were unwise

  Who should invest thee face to face;

  Therefore she does it from behind

  And blesses thee, so just and kind

  In giving her the prize for grace.

  23

  FROM MIMNERMUS

  I wish not Thasos rich in mines,

  Nor Naxos girt around with vines,

  Nor Crete nor Samos, the abodes

  Of those who govern men and Gods,

  Nor wider Lydia, where the sound

  Of tymbrels shakes the thymy ground,

  And with white feet and with hoofs cloven

  The dedal dance is spun and woven:

  Meanwhile each prying younger thing

  Is sent for water to the spring,

  Under where red Priapus rears

  His club amid the junipers;

  In this whole world enough for me

  Is any spot the Gods decree;

  Albeit the pious and the wise

  Would tarry where, like mulberries,

  In the first hour of ripeness fall

  The tender creatures, one and all.

  To take what falls with even mind

  Jove wills, and we must be resign’d.

  24

  ON A POET IN A WELSH CHURCH-YARD

  Kind souls! who strive what pious hand shall bring

  The first-found crocus from reluctant Spring,

  Or blow your wintry fingers while they strew

  This sunless turf with rosemary and rue,

  Bend o’er your lovers first, but mind to save

  One sprig of each to trim a poet’s grave.

  25

  TO A PAINTER

  Conceal not Time’s misdeeds, but on my brow

  Retrace his mark:

  Let the retiring hair be silvery now

  That once was dark:

  Eyes that reflected images too bright

  Let clouds o’ercast,

  And from the tablet be abolisht quite

  The cheerful past.

  Yet Care’s deep lines should one from waken’d Mirth

  Steal softly o’er,

  Perhaps on me the fairest of the earth

  May glance once more.

  26

  FÆSULAN IDYL

  Here, where precipitate Spring with one light bound

  Into hot Summer’s lusty arms expires;

  And where go forth at morn, at eve, at night,

  Soft airs, that want the lute to play with them,

  And softer sighs, that know not what they want;

  Aside a wall, beneath an orange-tree

  Whose tallest flowers could tell the lowlier ones

  Of sights in Fiesole right up above,

  While I was gazing a few paces off

  At what they seemed to show me with their nods,

  Their frequent whispers and their pointing shoots,

  A gentle maid came down the garden-steps

  And gathered the pure treasure in her lap.

  I heard the branches rustle, and stept forth

  To drive the ox away, or mule, or goat,

  Such I believed it must be. How could I

  Let beast o’erpower them? When hath wind or rain

  Borne hard upon weak plant that wanted me,

  And I (however they might bluster round)

  Walkt off? ’Twere most ungrateful: for sweet scents

  Are the swift vehicles of still sweeter thoughts,

  And nurse and pillow the dull memory

  That would let drop without them her best stores.

  They bring me tales of youth and tones of love,

  And ’tis and ever was my wish and way

  To let all flowers live freely, and all die,

  Whene’er their Genius bids their souls depart,

  Among their kindred in their native place.

  I never pluck the rose; the violet’s head

  Hath shaken with my breath upon its bank

  And not reproacht me; the ever-sacred cup

  Of the pure lily hath between my hands

  Felt safe, unsoil’d, nor lost one grain of gold.

  I saw the light that made the glossy leaves

  More glossy; the fair arm, the fairer cheek

  Warmed by the eye intent on its pursuit;

  I saw the foot, that, altho’ half-erect

  From its grey slipper, could not lift her up

  To what she wanted: I held down a branch

  And gather’d her some blossoms, since their hour

  Was come, and bees had wounded them, and flies

  Of harder wing were working their way thro

  And scattering them in fragments under foot.

  So crisp
were some, they rattled unevolved,

  Others, ere broken off, fell into shells,

  For such appear the petals when detacht,

  Unbending, brittle, lucid, white like snow,

  And like snow not seen thro, by eye or sun:

  Yet every one her gown received from me

  Was fairer than the first … I thought not so,

  But she so praised them to reward my care.

  I said: you find the largest.

  This indeed,

  Cried she, is large and sweet.

  She held one forth,

  Whether for me to look at or to take

  She knew not, nor did I; but taking it

  Would best have solved (and this she felt) her doubt.

  I dared not touch it; for it seemed a part

  Of her own self; fresh, full, the most mature

  Of blossoms, yet a blossom; with a touch

  To fall, and yet unfallen.

  She drew back

  The boon she tendered, and then, finding not

  The ribbon at her waist to fix it in,

  Dropt it, as loth to drop it, on the rest.

  27

  FAREWELL TO ITALY

  I leave thee, beauteous Italy! no more

  From the high terraces, at even-tide,

  To look supine into thy depths of sky,

  Thy golden moon between the cliff and me,

  Or thy dark spires of fretted cypresses

  Bordering the channel of the milky-way.

  Fiesole and Valdarno must be dreams

  Hereafter, and my own lost Affrico