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The moon made thy lips pale, beloved;

The wind made thy bosom chill;
The night did shed

On thy dear head

Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie

Where the bitter breath of the naked sky
Might visit thee at will.

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First our pleasures die-and then

Our hopes, and then our fears—and when
These are dead, the debt is due,

Dust claims dust-and we die too.

All things that we love and cherish,
Like ourselves must fade and perish.
Such is our rude mortal lot,

Love itself would, did they not.

ΤΟ

WHEN passion's trance is overpast,
If tenderness and truth could last
Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep
Some mortal slumber, dark and deep,
I should not weep, I should not weep!

It were enough to feel, to see
Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly,
And dream the rest-and burn and be
The secret food of fires unseen,
Couldst thou but be as thou hast been.

After the slumber of the year
The woodland violets re-appear,
All things revive in field or grove,

And sky and sea, but two, which move,

And for all others, life and love.

PASSAGE OF THE APENNINES.

LISTEN, listen, Mary mine,

To the wisper of the Apennine,

It bursts on the roof like the thunder's roar,

Or like the sea on a northern shore,

Heard in its raging ebb and flow

By the captives pent in the cave below.

The Apennine in the light of day

Is a mighty mountain dim and grey,

Which between the earth and sky doth lay;

But when night comes, a chaos dread

Ou the dim starlight then is spread,

And the Apennine walks abroad with the storm. May 4th, 1818.

TO MARY.

O Mary dear, that you were here
With your brown eyes bright and clear,
And your sweet voice, like a bird
Singing love to its lone mate

In the ivy bower disconsolate;
Voice the sweetest ever heard!

And your brow more

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Mary dear, come to me soon,

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sky

I am not well whilst thou art far;
As sunset to the sphered moon,
As twilight to the western star,
Thou, beloved, art to me.

O Mary dear, that you were here! The Castle echo whispers" Here!" Este, September, 1818.

THE PAST.

WILT thou forget the happy hours

Which we buried in Love's sweet bowers,

Heaping over their corpses cold

Blossoms and leaves, instead of mould?

Blossoms which were the joys that fell,
And leaves, the hopes that yet remain.

Forget the dead, the past? O yet

There are ghosts that may take revenge for it,
Memories that make the heart a tomb,
Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom,
And with ghastly whispers tell

That joy, once lost, is pain.

SONG OF A SPIRIT.

WITHIN the silent centre of the earth
My mansion is; where I have lived insphered
From the beginning, and around my sleep
Have woven all the wondrous imagery

Of this dim spot, which mortals call the world';
Infinite depths of unknown elements
Massed into one impenetrable mask;
Sheets of immeasurable fire, and veins
Of gold, and stone, and adamantine iron.
And as a veil in which I walk through Heaven

I have wrought mountains, seas, and waves, and clouds,
And lastly light, whose interfusion dawns

In the dark space of interstellar air.

LIBERTY.

THE fiery mountains answer each other;

Their thunderings are echoed from zone to zone;

The tempestuous oceans awake one another,
And the ice-rocks are shaken round winter's zone
When the clarion of the Typhoon is blown.

From a single cloud the lightning flashes,
Whilst a thousand isles are illumined around,
Earthquake is trampling one city to ashes,

A hundred are shuddering and tottering; the sound
Is bellowing underground.

But keener thy gaze than the lightning's glare,
And swifter thy step than the earthquake's tramp;
Thou deafenest the rage of the ocean; thy stare
Makes blind the volcanos; the sun's bright lamp
To thine is a fen-fire damp.

From billow and mountain and exhalation
The sunlight is darted through vapour and blast;
From spirit to spirit, from nation to nation,
From city to hamlet, thy dawning is cast,-
And tyrants and slaves are like shadows of night
In the van of the morning light.

ΤΟ

MINE eyes were dim with tears unshed;
Yes, I was firm-thus wert not thou ;-

My baffled looks did fear yet dread

To meet thy looks-I could not know How anxiously they sought to shine With soothing pity upon mine.

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