IV. To Sleep I give my powers away, O heart, how fares it with thee now, That thou shouldst fail from thy desire, Who scarcely darest to inquire "What is it makes me beat so low?" Something it is which thou hast lost, Some pleasure from thine early years. Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears, That grief hath shaken into frost! Such clouds of nameless trouble cross V. I SOMETIMES hold it half a sin But, for the unquiet heart and brain, Like dull narcotics, numbing pain. In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold; But that large grief which these infold Le given in outline and no more. VI. ONE writes, that " Other friends remain," That loss is common would not make O father, wheresoe'er thou be, Who pledgest now thy gallant son; A shot, ere half thy draught be done Hath stilled the life that beat from thee. O mother, praying God will save Thy sailor, while thy head is bowed And something written, something thought O, somewhere, meek unconscious dove, For now her father's chimney glows And thinking "this will please him best, She takes a ribbon or a rose; For he will see them on to-night; And with the thought her color burns; Once more to set a ringlet right; And, even when she turned, the curse Or killed in falling from his horse. O, what to her shall be the end? And what to me remains of good? And unto me, no second friend. VII. DARK house, by which once more I stand, Doors, where my heart was used to beat So quickly, waiting for a hand, A hand that can be clasped no more,— He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly through the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day. VIII. A HAPPY lover who has come To look on her that loves him well, Who lights, and rings the gateway bell, And learns her gone, and far from home, He saddens, all the magic light Dies off at once from bower and hall, And all the place is dark, and all The chambers emptied of delight. So find I every pleasant spot In which we two were wont to meet, The field, the chamber, and the street For all is dark, where thou art not. Yet as that other, wandering there In those deserted walks, may find A flower beat with rain and wind, Which once she fostered up with care; So seems it in my deep regret, O my forsaken heart, with thee, But since it pleased a vanished eye, IX. FAIR ship, that from the Italian shore With my lost Arthur's loved remains, Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er! So draw him home to those that mourn, Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead All night no ruder air perplex Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright As our pure love, through early light Shall glimmer on the dewy decks! Sphere all your lights around, above; Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow; Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now. My friend, the brother of my love [ My Arthur! whom I shall not see Till all my widowed race be run; Dear as the mother to the son, More than my brothers are to me! X. I HEAR the noise about thy keel; I see the sailor at the wheel. Thou bringest the sailor to his wife; And travelled men from foreign lands; So bring him: we have idle dreams: To rest beneath the clover sod, That takes the sunshine and the rains, The chalice of the grapes of God, Than if with thee the roaring wells Should gulf him fathom deep in brine; And hands so often clasped in mine Should toss with tangle and with shells. |