Mind from its object differs most in

this:

Evil from good; misery from happiness; The baser from the nobler; the impure And frail, from, what is clear and must

endure.

If you divide suffering and dross, you may

Diminish till it is consumed away;

If you divide pleasure and love and thought,

Each part exceeds the whole; and we know not

How much, while any yet remains unshared,

Of pleasure may be gained, of sorrow spared:

This truth is that deep well, whence sages draw

The unenvied light of hope; the eternal law

By which those live, to whom this world of life

Is as a garden ravaged, and whose strife
Tills for the promise of a later birth
The wilderness of this Elysian earth.

And from the singing of the summer

birds,

And from all sounds, all silence. In the words

Of antique verse and high romance,-in form,

Sound, color-in whatever checks that Storm

Which with the shattered present chokes

the past;

And in that best philosophy, whose taste Makes this cold common hell, our life, a doom

As glorious as a fiery martyrdom ;
Her Spirit was the harmony of truth.-

Then, from the caverns of my dreamy youth

I sprang, as one sandalled with plumes of fire.

And towards the loadstar of my one desire,

I flitted, like a dizzy moth, whose flight
Is as a dead leaf's in the owlet light,
When it would seek in Hesper's setting
sphere

A radiant death, a fiery sepulchre,
As if it were a lamp of earthly flame.-
But She, whom prayers or tears then
could not tame,

Passed, like a God throned on a winged planet,

Whose burning plumes to tenfold swiftness fan it,

Into the dreary cone of our life's shade; And as a man with mighty loss dismayed, I would have followed, though the grave between

Yawned like a gulf whose spectres are

That world within this Chaos, mine and

me,

Of which she was the veiled Divinity, The world I say of thoughts that worshipped her:

And therefore I went forth, with hope and fear

And every gentle passion sick to death, Feeding my course with expectation's breath,

Into the wintry forest of our life; And struggling through its error with vain strife,

And stumbling in my weakness and my haste.

And half bewildered by new forms, I past Seeking among those untaught foresters If I could find one form resembling hers, In which she might have masked herself from me. There,-One, whose voice was venomed melody

Sate by a well, under blue nightshade bowers;

The breath of her false mouth was like faint flowers,

Her touch was as electric poison,-flame Out of her looks into my vitals came, And from her living cheeks and bosom flew

A killing air, which pierced like honeydew

Into the core of my green heart, and lay Upon its leaves; until, as hair grown gray O'er a young brow, they hid its unblown prime

With ruins of unseasonable time.

Which from its heart of hearts that plant puts forth

Whose fruit, made perfect by thy sunny

eyes,

Will be as of the trees of Paradise.

The day is come, and thou wilt fly with me.

To whatsoe'er of dull mortality

Is mine, remain a vestal sister still; To the intense, the deep, the imperishable,

Not mine but me, henceforth be thou united

Even as a bride, delighting and delighted.

The hour is come:-the destined Star has risen

Which shall descend upon a vacant prison.

The walls are high, the gates are strong, thick set

The sentinels-but true love never yet Was thus constrained: it overleaps all fence:

Like lightning, with invisible violence Piercing its continents; like Heaven's free breath,

Which he who grasps can hold not; liker Death,

Who rides upon a thought, and makes his way

Through temple, tower, and palace, and the array

Of arms; more strength has Love than he or they;

For it can burst his charnel, and make free

The limbs in chains, the heart in agony, The soul in dust and chaos.

Emily,

A ship is floating in the harbor now, A wind is hovering o'er the mountain's brow:

There is a path on the sea's azure floor, No keel has ever ploughed that path before;

The halcyons brood around the foamless isles; [wiles;

The treacherous Ocean has forsworn its The merry mariners are bold and free: Say, my heart's sister, wilt thou sail

with me?

Our bark is as an albatross, whose nest
Is a far Eden of the purple East;
And we between her wings will sit,
while Night

And Day, and storm, and Calm, pursue their flight,

Our ministers, along the boundless Sea,
Treading each other's heels, unheededly.
It is an Isle under Ionian skies,
Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise,
And,

for the harbors are not safe and

good,

This land would have remained a solitude

But

for some pastoral people native there,

Who from the Elysian, clear, and golden air

Diaw the last spirit of the age of gold, Simple and spirited; innocent and bold. The blue Egean girds this chosen home, With ever-changing sound and light and foam,

Kissing the sifted sands, and caverns hoar;

And all the winds wandering along the shore

Undulate with the undulating tide:
There
are thick woods where sylvan
forms abide :

And many a fountain, rivulet, and pond,
As clear as elemental diamond,
Or serene morning air; and far beyond,
The
mossy tracks made by the goats

and deer

(Which the rough shepherd treads but once a year),

Pierce into glades, caverns, and bowers, and balls

Built round with ivy, which the water

falls

Illumining, with sound that never fails Accompany the noonday nightingales; And all the place is peopled with sweet airs;

The light clear element which the isle

wears

Is heavy with the scent of lemon-flowers, Which floats like mist laden with unseen showers

And falls upon the eyelids like faint sleep;

And from the moss violets and jonquils реер,

And dart their arrowy odor through the brain

Till you might faint with that delicious

pain, And every motion, odor, beam, and tone With that deep music is in unison : Which is a soul within the soul-they

seem

Like echoes of an antenatal dream.—
It is an isle 'twixt Heaven, Air, Earth,

and Sea,

Cradled, and hung in clear tranquility; Bright as that wandering Eden Lucifer, Washed by the soft blue Oceans of young air,

It is a favored place. Famine or Blight, Pestilence, War, and Earthquake, never light

Upon its mountain-peaks; blind vul tures, they

Sail onward far upon their fatal way: The winged storms, chanting their thunder-psalm

To other lands, leave azure chasms of calm

Over this isle, or weep themselves in dew, From which its fields and woods ever

renew

Their green and golden immortality. And from the sea there rise, and from the sky

There fall, clear exhalations, soft and bright,

Veil after veil, each hiding some delight, Which Sun or Moon or zephyr draw aside,

Till the isle's beauty, like a naked bride Glowing at once with love and loveli

ness,

Blushes and trembles at its own excess: Yet, like a buried lamp, a Soul no less Burns in the heart of this delicious isle, An atom of th' Eternal, whose own smile

Unfolds itself, and may be felt, not seen O'er the gray rocks, blue waves, and forests green,

Filling their bare and void interstices.But the chief marvel of the wilderness Is a lone dwelling, built by whom or how

None of the rustic island-people know; 'Tis not a tower of strength, though

with its height