From old well-heads of haunted rills,
And the hearts of purple hills,

And shadowed coves on a sunny shore,

The choicest wealth of all the earth, Jewel or shell, or starry ore,

To deck thy cradle, Eleänore.

Or the yellow-banded bees,
Through half-open lattices
Coming in the scented breeze,

Fed thee, a child, lying alone,

With whitest honey in fairy gardens culled-.

A glorious child, dreaming alone,

In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down,

With the hum of swarming bees

Into dreamful slumber lulled.

Who may minister to thee?

Summer herself should minister

To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded
On golden salvers, or it may be,
Youngest Autumn, in a bower
Grape-thickened from the light, and blinded

With many a deep-hued bell-like flower

Of fragrant trailers, when the air
Sleepeth over all the heaven,

And the crag that fronts the Even,

All along the shadowing shore,

Crimsons over an inland mere,

Eleänore!

How may

full-sailed verse express,

How

may measured words adore The full-flowing harmony

Of thy swan-like stateliness,

Eleänore?

The luxuriant symmetry

Of thy floating gracefulness,

Eleänore?

Every turn and glance of thine,
Every lineament divine,

Eleänore,

And the steady sunset glow,

That stays upon thee? For in thee

Is nothing sudden, nothing single;

Like two streams of incense free

From one censer, in one shrine,

Thought and motion mingle,

To one another, even as though
They were modulated so

To an unheard melody,

Which lives about thee, and a sweep
Of richest pauses, evermore

Drawn from each other mellow-deep;
Who may express thee, Eleänóre ?

I stand before thee, Eleänore;

I see thy beauty gradually unfold,
Daily and hourly, more and more.
I muse, as in a trance, the while

Slowly, as from a cloud of gold,
Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile.
I muse, as in a trance, whene'er

The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were

So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies,

To stand apart, and to adore,
Gazing on thee for evermore,

Serene, imperial Eleänore!

Sometimes, with most intensity

Gazing, I seem to see

Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep,

Slowly awakened, grow so full and deep
In thy large eyes, that, overpowered quite,
I cannot veil, or droop my sight,

But am as nothing in its light:

As though a star, in inmost heaven set,
Even while we gaze on it,

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
In thy large eyes, imperial Eleänore.

As thunder-clouds that, hung on high,

Roofed the world with doubt and fear,
Floating through an evening atmosphere,
Grow golden all about the sky;

In thee all passion becomes passionless,
Touched by thy spirit's mellowness,
Losing his fire and active might

In a silent meditation,

Falling into a still delight,

VOL. I.

And luxury of contemplation:

7.

As waves that up a quiet cove
Rolling slide, and lying still

Shadow forth the banks at will;

Or sometimes they swell and move,
Pressing up against the land,
With motions of the outer sea:
And the self-same influence

Controlleth all the soul and sense
Of Passion gazing upon thee.
His bow-string slackened, languid Love,
Leaning his cheek upon his hand,

Droops both his wings, regarding thee,
And so would languish evermore,
Serene, imperial Eleänore.

But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, While the amorous, odorous wind

Breathes low between the sunset and the moon;

Or, in a shadowy saloon,

On silken cushions half reclined;

I watch thy grace; and in its place
My heart a charmed slumber keeps,

While I muse upon thy face;

And a languid fire creeps