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(I.) SINCE to my dreams you once unbidden came, | |
| I know not why, nor may I dare to tell | |
| How, though my heart remembers but too well | |
| The thought of you has set my soul aflame | |
| And I, when others chance to speak your name, | 5 |
| Feel that it holds for me a secret spell | |
| To make my pulses thrill, my bosom swell | |
| And flutter, all aglow with joy and shame. | |
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| Yet what should shame me? For although I meet | |
| Your eyes, no knowledge in them dwells of this | 10 |
| My fancy stolen-shadow of a bliss | |
| You gave me; and because it was so sweet, | |
| And being but a dream can bring no pain, | |
| I’ll dream it, waking, o’er and o’er again. | |
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(XXI.) More rich am I than richest misers are | 15 |
| For I have you, more worth than glitt’ring hoard | |
| Of heap’d-up gold, within my bosom stored | |
| Where sweet remembrance needs no bolt nor bar. | |
| And I do count myself the happier far | |
| That you, my joy, to others joy afford: | 20 |
| Base treasures basely own but one poor lord, | |
| Who is’t dare claim the shining of a star? | |
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| Things chiefest prized,—the sun that glows above, | |
| The flowery fields, the woods, the wand’ring air, | |
| These sweet delights we must with others share, | 25 |
| And so am I content to share your love. | |
| That you love others shall not make my grief; | |
| That you love me makes you from those no thief. | |
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(XL.) Not to be near you! But to know my days | |
| Apart from yours must waste away, and lose | 30 |
| The golden time which should be love’s to use, | |
| Like some bright spirit hovering round your ways: | |
| To lift my eyes, and yet not meet your gaze | |
| That falls upon my soul like thrilling dews: | |
| To think of you—and weep! Yet, weeping, choose | 35 |
| Through all my tears love’s bitter-sweet to praise. | |
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| To dream of you, when dawning slowly brings | |
| Remembrance of my pain, that stirs and wakes | |
| Against my bosom all the night, and makes | |
| The lonely dark a voice of mournful things. | 40 |
| O this it is love’s thorny crown to wear, | |
| And find how sharp the pricks that wound me there! | |
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(XLIII.) It is like heaven to dream! Soft flows the river | |
| Of shadowy sleep under a charmèd sky, | |
| Lull’d by the trembling airs that wander by, | 45 |
| Where moonlight and pale starlight fall and shiver. | |
| And one low song—’tis love’s—pours forth a quiver | |
| Of unseen joy. Ah! must we wake to sigh | |
| That love is a regret? Do you, as I, | |
| Hold back the gift, so fain to be the giver? | 50 |
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| Do you, as I? The cry rings all in vain: | |
| Your voice must never answer. For apart, | |
| I whisper wild enchantments to my heart, | |
| And bid it sleep and dream of heaven again. | |
| O! on some bright, some far, ethereal shore, | 55 |
| To wake and know you mine, a dream no more! | |
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