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How my heart beats in coupling those two words !)
The pearly lustre of the moon went out:
saw only them for hours
But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,
Lighting my lonely pathway home that night,
in Heaven the stars I kneel to
two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!
OT long ago, the writer of these lines,
In the mad pride of intellectuality, [that ever
Maintained “the power of words denied A thought arose within the human brain Beyond the utterance of the human tongue : And now, as if in mockery of that boast, Two words — two foreign soft dissyllables Italian tones, made only to be murmured By angels dreaming in the moonlit “ dew That hangs like chains of pearl on Hermon hill,”.
Have stirred from out the abysses of his heart,
The leaves they were crisped and sere
The leaves they were withering and sere — It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir – It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my soul
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when
heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll
As the lavas that restlessly roll — Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.
Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere
Our memories were treacherous and sere For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber –
(Though once we had journeyed down here) Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn
As the star-dials hinted of morn At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.
And I said “She is warmer than Dian :
She rolls through an ether of sighs –
She revels in a region of sighs:
These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to the skies –
To the Lethean peace of the skies Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes – Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes.”
But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said — “Sadly this star I mistrust
Her pallor I strangely mistrust:Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly! - let us fly! — for we must."