Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell on the upturned faces of the roses, And on thine own, upturned--alas, in sorrow! 20

Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight-- Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow) That bade me pause before that garden-gate To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses?

No footsteps stirred: the hated world all slept, 25 Save only thee and me--O Heaven! O G.o.d!

How my heart beats in coupling those two words!-- Save only thee and me. I paused, I looked, And in an instant all things disappeared.

(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) 30 The pearly l.u.s.tre of the moon went out:

The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. 35 All, all expired save thee--save less than thou: Save only the divine light in thine eyes, Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes: I saw but them--they were the world to me: I saw but them, saw only them for hours, 40 Saw only them until the moon went down.

What wild heart-histories seem to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres; How dark a woe, yet how sublime a hope; How silently serene a sea of pride; 45 How daring an ambition; yet how deep, How fathomless a capacity for love!

But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees 50 Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained: They would not go--they never yet have gone; Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since; They follow me--they lead me through the years; 55 They are my ministers--yet I their slave; Their office is to illumine and enkindle-- My duty, to be saved by their bright light, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire, 60 They fill my soul with beauty (which is hope), And are, far up in heaven, the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still--two sweetly scintillant 65 Venuses, unextinguished by the sun.

A VALENTINE

For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.

Search narrowly the lines! they hold a treasure 5 Divine, a talisman, an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-- The word--the syllables. Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor: And yet there is in this no Gordian knot 10 Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot.

Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie _perdus_ Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing 15 Of poets, by poets--as the name is a poet's, too.

Its letters, although naturally lying Like the knight Pinto, Mendez Ferdinando, Still form a synonym for Truth.--Cease trying!

You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do. 20

FOR ANNIE

Thank Heaven! the crisis, The danger, is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last, And the fever called "Living" 5 Is conquered at last.

Sadly I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length: 10 But no matter!--I feel I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly Now, in my bed, That any beholder 15 Might fancy me dead, Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, 20 Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart:--ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing!

The sickness, the nausea, 25 The pitiless pain, Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain, With the fever called "Living"

That burned in my brain. 30

And oh! of all tortures, That torture the worst Has abated--the terrible Torture of thirst For the naphthaline river 35 Of Pa.s.sion accurst: I have drank of a water That quenches all thirst:

Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, 40 From a spring but a very few Feet under ground, From a cavern not very far Down under ground.

And ah! let it never 45 Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy, And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed: 50 And, _to sleep_, you must slumber In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never 55 Regretting, its roses: Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses;

For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies 60 A holier odor About it, of pansies: A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies, With rue and the beautiful 65 Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie, 70 Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently 75 To sleep on her breast, Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, 80 And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm, To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly 85 Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead; And I rest so contentedly Now, in my bed, 90 (With her love at my breast) That you fancy me dead, That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead.

But my heart it is brighter 95 Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie: It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie, 100 With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie.

THE BELLS

I

Hear the sledges with the bells, Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! 5 While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline deligit; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, 10 To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II

Hear the mellow wedding bells, 15 Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!

Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight!

From the molten-golden notes, 20 And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells, 25 What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!

How it swells!

How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels 30 To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! 35

III

Hear the loud alarum bells, Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!

In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! 40 Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, 45 Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now--now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. 50 Oh, the bells, bells, bells!

What a tale their terror tells Of Despair!

How they clang, and clash, and roar!

What a horror they outpour 55 On the bosom of the palpitating air!

Yet the ear it fully knows, By the tw.a.n.ging And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; 60 Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells,-- By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, 65 Of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells-- In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV

Hear the tolling of the bells, 70 Iron bells!

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!

In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! 75 For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan.