Slowly awakened, grow so full and deep But am as nothing in its light: As though a star, in inmost heaven set, Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow To a full face, there like a sun remain Fixed-then as slowly fade again, And draw itself to what it was before; So full, so deep, so slow, Thought seems to come and go As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, Roofed the world with doubt and fear, In thee all passion becomes passionless, In a silent meditation, Falling into a still delight, VOL. I. And luxury of contemplation: 7 As waves that up a quiet cove Shadow forth the banks at will; Controlleth all the soul and sense His bow-string slackened, languid Love, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, Breathes low between the sunset and the moon; On silken cushions half reclined; I watch thy grace; and in its place While I muse upon thy face; And a languid fire creeps Through my veins to all my frame, From thy rose-red lips My name Brimmed with delirious draughts of warmest life. I hear what I would hear from thee; Yet tell my name again to me. I would be dying evermore, THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. I SEE the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, In yonder chair I see him sit, Three fingers round the old silver cup I see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest — gray eyes lit With summer lightnings of a soul up So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole, His memory scarce can make me sad. Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: Have I not found a happy earth? I least should breathe a thought of pain. So sweet it seems with thee to walk, Across the walnuts and the wine To be the long and listless boy Late left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken through By some wild skylark's matin song. |