TO FANNY PHYSICIAN Nature! let my spirit blood! O ease my heart of verse and let me rest ; Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood I come--I see thee, as thou standest there; Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears, As brilliant and as bright, As when with ravish'd, aching, vassal eyes, I gaze, I gaze! Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast? But, pr'ythee, do not turn The current of your heart from me so soon. The quickest pulse for me. Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath; Smiling and cold and gay, A temperate lily, temperate as fair; Why, this-you'll say, my Fanny! is not true: A feather on the sea, Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide? As blow-ball from the mead? I know it—and to know it is despair To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny! Dare keep its wretched home: Love, love alone, has pains severe and many; From torturing jealousy. Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above Or with a rude hand break The sacramental cake: Let none else touch the just new-budded flower; If not-may my eyes close, ΤΟ WHAT can I do to drive away WH Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen, Ay, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen! Touch has a memory. O say, love, say, What can I do to kill it and be free In my old liberty? When every fair one that I saw was fair When, howe'er poor or particolour'd things, And ever ready was to take her course Whither I bent her force, Unintellectual, yet divine to me ; Divine, I say!-What sea-bird o'er the sea Is a philosopher the while he goes Winging along where the great water throes? How shall I do To get anew Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more The reach of fluttering Love, And make him cower lowly while I soar? Shall I gulp wine? No, that is vulgarism, A heresy and schism, Foisted into the canon law of love ; No,-wine is only sweet to happy men ; More dismal cares Seize on me unawares, Where shall I learn to get my peace again? Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods, O, for some sunny spell To dissipate the shadows of this hell! Say they are gone,—with the new dawning light O, let me once more rest My soul upon that dazzling breast! Let once again these aching arms be placed, The tender gaolers of thy waist! And let me feel that warm breath here and there To spread a rapture in my very hair,— O, the sweetness of the pain! Give me those lips again! Enough Enough I it is enough for me SONNETS PENSER! a jealous honourer of thine, SPENSE A forester deep in thy midmost trees, Did, last eve, ask my promise to refine Some English, that might strive thine ear to please. But, Elfin-poet! 'tis impossible For an inhabitant of wintry earth To rise, like Phoebus, with a golden quill, Fire-wing'd, and make a morning in his mirth. It is impossible to 'scape from toil O' the sudden, and receive thy spiriting: Be with me in the summer days and I |