SONG.

I.

A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours

Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers:

To himself he talks ;

For at eventide, listening earnestly,

At his work you may hear him sob and sigh

In the walks ;

Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks

Of the mouldering flowers :

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower

Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;

Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

II.

The air is damp, and hush'd, and close,
As a sick man's room when he taketh repose
An hour before death;

My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves
At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,

And the breath

Of the fading edges of box beneath,

And the year's last rose.

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower

Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;

Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

ADELINE.

MYSTERY of mysteries,

Faintly smiling Adeline,

Scarce of earth nor all divine,

Nor unhappy, nor at rest;

But beyond expression fair,

With thy floating flaxen hair,

Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes

Take the heart from out my breast;

Wherefore those dim looks of thine,

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

Whence that

aery

bloom of thine,

Like a lily which the sun

Looks thro' in his sad decline,

And a rose-bush leans upon,

Thou that faintly smilest still,
As a Naiad in a well,

Looking at the set of day,
Or a phantom two hours old

Of a maiden past away,

Ere the placid lips be cold?

Wherefore those faint smiles of thine,

Spiritual Adeline ?

What hope or fear or joy is thine ?

Who talketh with thee, Adeline?

For sure thou art not all alone:

Do beating hearts of salient springs

Keep measure with thine own?

Hast thou heard the butterflies

What they say betwixt their wings?

Or in stillest evenings

With what voice the violet woos

To his heart the silver dews?

Or when little airs arise,

How the merry bluebell rings

To the mosses underneath?

Hast thou look'd upon the breath

Of the lilies at sunrise ?

Wherefore that faint smile of thine,

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

Some honey-converse feeds thy mind,
Some spirit of a crimson rose

In love with thee forgets to close

His curtains, wasting odorous sighs

All night long on darkness blind.

What aileth thee? whom waitest thou

With thy soften'd, shadow'd brow,

And those dew-lit eyes of thine,

Thou faint smiler, Adeline?

Lovest thou the doleful wind

When thou gazest at the skies?