I dare not say how much thou art to me
Even to myself-and O, far less to thee!
SILENT as one who treads on new-fallen snow,
Love came upon me ere I was aware ;
Not light of heart, for there was troublous care
Upon his eyelids, drooping them full low,
As with sad memory of a healèd woe;
The cold rain shivered in his golden hair,
As if an outcast lot had been his share,
And he seemed doubtful whither he should go :
Then he fell on my neck, and, in my breast
Hiding his face, awhile sobbed bitterly,
As half in grief to be so long distrest,
And half in joy at his security-
At last, uplooking from his place of rest,
His eyes shone blessedness and hope on me.
A GENTLENESS that grows of steady faith;
A joy that sheds its sunshine everywhere;
A humble strength and readiness to bear
Those burthens which strict duty ever lay'th
Upon our souls ;--which unto sorrow saith,
"Here is no soil for thee to strike thy roots,
Here only grow those sweet and precious fruits;
Which ripen for the soul that well obey'th;
A patience which the world can neither give
Nor take away; a courage strong and high,
That dares in simple usefulness to live,
And without one sad look behind to die
When that day comes ;-these tell me that our love
Is building for itself a home above.
WHEN the glad soul is full to overflow,
Unto the tongue all power it denies,
And only trusts its secret to the eyes;
For, by an inborn wisdom, it doth know
There is no other eloquence but so;
And, when the tongue's weak utterance doth suffice,
Prisoned within the body's cell it lies,
Remembering in tears its exiled woe :
That word which all mankind so long to hear,
Which bears the spirit back to whence it came,
Maketh the sullen clay as crystal clear,
And will not be enclouded in a name;
It is a truth which we can feel and see
But is as boundless as Eternity.
WHEN we have once said lowly "Evening-Star!"
Words give no more-for, in thy silver pride,
Thou shinest as nought else can shine beside;
The thick smoke, coiling round the sooty bar
Forever, and the customed lamp-light mar
The stillness of my thought-seeing things glide
So samely then I ope my windows wide,
And gaze in peace to where thou shin'st afar,
The wind that comes across the faint-white snow
So freshly, and the river dimly seen,
Seem like new things that never had been so
Before; and thou art bright as thou hast been
Since thy white rays put sweetness in the eyes
Of the first souls that loved in Paradise.
As one who on some well-known landscape looks,
Be it alone, or with some dear friend nigh,
Each day beholdeth fresh variety,
New harmonies of hills, and trees, and brooks-
So is it with the worthiest choice of books,
And oftenest read: if thou no meaning spy,
Deem there is meaning wanting in thine eyes;
We are so lured from judgment by the crooks
And winding ways of covert fantasy,
Or turned unwittingly down beaten tracks
Of our foregone conclusions, that we see,
In our own want, the writer's misdeemed lacks :
It is with true books as with Nature, each
New day of living doth new insight teach.
BLUE as thine eyes the river gently flows
Between his banks, which, far as eye can see,
Are whiter than aught else on earth may be,
Save inmost thoughts that in thy soul repose;
The trees, all crystalled by the melted snows,
Sparkle with gems and silver, such as we
In childhood saw 'mong groves of Faërie,
And the dear skies are sunny-blue as those;
Still as thy heart, when next mine own it lies
In love's fall safety, is the bracing air;
The earth is all enwrapt with draperies
Snow-white as that pure love might choose to wear—
O for one moment's look into thine eyes,
To share the joy such scene would kindle there!
A LILY with its frail cup filled with dew,
Down-bending modestly, snow-white and pale,
Shedding faint fragrance round its native vale,
Minds me of thee, Sweet Edith, mild and true,
And of thy eyes so innocent and blue,
Thy heart is fearful as a startled hare,
Yet hath in it a fortitude to bear
For Love's sake, and a gentle faith which grew
Of Love need of a stay whereon to lean,
Felt in thyself, hath taught thee to uphold
And comfort others, and to give, unseen,
The kindness thy still love cannot withhold.
Maiden, I would my sister thou hadst been,
That round thee I my guarding arms might fold.
My ever-lightsome, ever-laughing Rose,
Who always speakest first and thinkest last,
Thy full voice is as clear as bugle-blast;
Right from the ear down to the heart it goes
And says, "I'm beautiful! as who but knows?
Thy name reminds me of old romping days,
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