IX. LOVE'S COLOR. I CAN nor tell nor sing the bliss of loving, It is a joy to think of-not to speak, Words, symbols, lyres, seraphic trumpets are too weak To utter its divinity-so proving That silence is its best interpreter. Love never did gain strength through speech or car ; If found loquacious, it is plumed for roving, Or lodged in bosoms little worth its moving. All things assume the color of my love, I only see through its prismatic eyes. It vests the stars in hues of Paradise, And clothes the moon in soulshine from above If sun, moon, stars went out-earth were black night, I could live on and love by Love's celestial light. X. LOVE'S LAST SWEET DRAUGHT. A WEEK ago to-day, the hours embalmed, Upon thy breast I bowed my throbbing head, The storm of woe aback was driven, In muffled murmurs like a dying dirge. And all the Angels calling me in heaven, XI. THE CHANGE. AH! woe is me! how have I fallen from My height-my heaven of heavens-my Eden fair, To trail the dust like any other worm! Where are my wings that erst outsoared the storm, As the bold eagle cleaves the upper air? Where are the sylphs that twined my flowing hair, Or with me float upon their silvery spars I lie, adrift adown the dreary dark, Where dawns no beacon-star to guide my helmless bark. XII. THE RIVER OF THE PAST. I'm roving up the river of the past, Where thou and I, Adhémar, hand in hand Cheek pressed to cheek, whilom, were wont to stand, Watching the golden moments as they passed; Or, speechless, gaze into each other's eyes Until our souls arose in those expanses, And stood up, face to face, exchanging glances That lifted it above the thought of sin And the full sanction of both heaven and earth did win. XIII. THE PARTING. 'Tis just one year ago, beloved, to-day, And bade the flood-gates of my heart give way, As if an adder pierced me with its fang, I breathed, yet I was dead-all things were dead to me. |