With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless noon [dred towers, Was clash'd and hammer'd from a hunOne after one; but even then she gain'd Her bower, whence reissuing, robed and crown'd, To meet her lord, she took the tax away And built herself an everlasting name. 1842. The fatal byword of all years to come, Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Peep'd-but his eyes, before they had their will, Were shrivell'd into darkness in his head, [who wait And dropped before him. So the Powers, On noble deeds, cancell'd a sense misused; [at once, And she, that knew not, pass'd; and all They reel, they roll in clanging lists, And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers, That lightly rain from ladies' hands. How sweet are looks that ladies bend On whom their favors fall! For them I battle till the end, To save from shame and thrall; But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine; I never felt the kiss of love, So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and 'will. When down the stormy crescent goes, I hear a voice, but none are there; The silver vessels sparkle clean, The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, And solemn chants resound between Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres I find a magic bark. I leap on board; no helmsman steers; I float till all is dark. A gentle sound, an awful light! Three angels bear the Holy Grail; Once more uprose the mystic mountain range. Below were men and horses pierced with worms, And slowly quickening into lower forms; By shards and scurf of salt, and scum of dross, Old plash of rains, and refuse patch'd with moss. Then some one spake: "Behold! it was a crime Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time." Another said: "The crime of sense be came The crime of malice, and is equal blame." And one: "He had not wholly quench'd his power; A little grain of conscience made him sour." At last I heard a voice upon the slope Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?" To which an answer peal'd from that high land, But in a tongue no man could understand; And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn God made Himself an awful rose of dawn. 1842. BREAK, BREAK, BREAK BREAK, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. 1842. THE POET'S SONG THE rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He pass'd by the town and out of the street; The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak, And stared, with his foot on the prey; And the nightingale thought, “I have sung many songs, But never a one so gay, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away." 1842. LYRICS FROM THE PRINCESS TEARS, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as ir dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all re gret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more! |
