III.

A wild, inspirèd earnestness
Her inmost being fills,
And eager self-forgetfulness,
That speaks not what it wills,
But what unto her soul is given,
A living oracle from Heaven,
Which scarcely in her breast is born
When on her trembling lips it thrills,
And, like a burst of golden skies
Through storm-clouds on a sudden torn,
Like a glory of the morn,

Beams marvellously from her eyes.

And then, like a Spring-swollen river,
Roll the deep waves of her full-hearted thought
Crested with sun-lit spray,

Her wild lips curve and quiver,

And my rapt soul, on the strong tide upcaught,
Unwittingly is borne away,

Lulled by a dreamful music ever,
Far-through the solemn twilight-gray
Of hoary woods--through valleys green
Which the trailing vine embowers,
And where the purple-clustered grapes are seen
Deep-glowing through rich clumps of waving flowers-
Now over foaming rapids swept

And with maddening rapture shook— Now gliding where the water-plants have slept For ages in a moss-rimmed nook

Enwoven by a wild-eyed band

Of earth-forgetting dreams,
I float to a delicious land

By a sunset heaven spanned,

And musical with streams ;-

Around, the calm, majestic forms And god-like eyes of early Greece I see, Or listen, till my spirit warms,

To songs of courtly chivalry,

Or weep, unmindful if my tears be seen,
For the meek, suffering love of poor Undine.

IV.

Her thoughts are never memories,

But ever changeful, ever new,

Fresh and beautiful as dew

That in a dell at noontide lies,

Or, at the close of summer day,

The pleasant breath of new-mown hay:
Swiftly they come and pass

As golden birds across the sun,
As light-gleams on tall meadow-grass
Which the wind just breathes upon.
And when she speaks, her eyes I see
Down-gushing through their silken lattices,
Like stars that quiver tremblingly
Through leafy branches of the trees,
And her pale checks do flush and glow
With speaking flashes bright and rare
As crimson North-lights on new-fallen snow,
From out the veiling of her hair--
Her careless hair that scatters down
On either side her eyes,

A waterfall leaf-tinged with brown
And lit with the sunrise.

V.

When first I saw her, not of earth, But heavenly both in grief and mirth, I thought her; she did seem As fair and full of mystery,

As bodiless, as forms we see

In the rememberings of a dream;
A moon-lit mist, a strange, dim light,
Circled her spirit from my sight ;—
Each day more beautiful she grew,
More earthly every day,

Yet that mysterious, moony hue
Faded not all away;

She has a sister's sympathy

With all the wanderers of the sky,
But most I've seen her bosom stir
When moonlight round her fell,
For the mild moon it loveth her,
She loveth it as well,

And of their love perchance this grace
Was born into her wondrous face.
I cannot tell how it may be,

For both, methinks, can scarce be true,
Still, as she earthly grew to me,

She grew more heavenly too;

She seems one born in Heaven

With earthly feelings,

For, while unto her soul are given
More pure revealings

Of holiest love and truth,

Yet is the mildness of her

eyes

Made up of quickest sympathies,

Of kindliness and ruth;

So, though some shade of awe doth stir.
Our souls for one so far above us,
We feel secure that she will love us,
And cannot keep from loving her.
She is a poem, which to me

In speech and look is written bright,
And to her life's rich harmony

Doth ever sing itself aright;
Dear, glorious creature!
With eyes so dewy bright,
And tenderest feeling
Itself revealing

In every look and feature,
Welcome as a homestead light

To one long-wandering in a clouded night;
O, lovelier for her woman's weakness,
Which yet is strongly mailed

In armor of courageous meekness
And faith that never failed!

VI.

Early and late, at her soul's gate,
Sits Chastity in warderwise,

No thoughts unchallenged, small or great,

Go thence into her eyes;

Nor may a low, unworthy thought

Beyond that virgin warder win,

Nor one, whose password is not "ought,"

May go without or enter in.

I call her, seeing those pure eyes,
The Eve of a new Paradise,
Which she by gentle word and deed,

And look no less, doth still create

About her, for her great thoughts breed

A calm that lifts us from our fallen state,
And makes us while with her both good and great-
Nor is their memory wanting in our need:
With stronger loving, every hour,

Turneth my heart to this frail flower,
Which, thoughtless of the world, hath grown
To beauty and meek gentleness,
Here in a fair world of its own-

By woman's instinct trained alone

A lily fair which God did bless,

And which from Nature's heart did draw Love, wisdom, peace, and Heaven's perfect law.

LOVE'S ALTAR.

I.

I BUILT an altar in my soul,

I builded it to one alone;

And ever silently I stole,

In happy days of long-agone,

To make rich offerings to that ONE.

II.

"T was garlanded with purest thought,
And crowned with fancy's flowers bright,
With choicest gems 't was all inwrought
Of truth and feeling; in my sight
It seemed a spot of cloudless light.

III.

Yet when I made my offering there,
Like Cain's, the incense would not rise;