TO LAURA.
(Rapture.)
Laura—above this world methinks I fly,
And feel the glow of some May-lighted sky,
When thy looks beam on mine!
And my soul drinks a more ethereal air,
When mine own shape I see reflected there,
In those blue eyes of thine!
A lyre-sound from the Paradise afar,
A harp-note trembling from some gracious star,
Seems the wild ear to fill;
And my muse feels the Golden Shepherd-hours,
When from thy lips the silver music pours
Slow, as against its will.
I see the young Loves flutter on the wing—
Move the charm'd trees, as when the Thracian's string
Wild life to forests gave;
Swifter the globe's swift circle seems to fly,
When in the whirling dance thou glidest by,
Light as a happy wave.
Thy looks, when there love sheds the loving smile,
Could from the senseless marble life beguile—
Lend rocks a pulse divine;
Into a dream my very being dies,
I can but read—for ever read—thine eyes—
Laura, sweet Laura, mine![13]
[Footnote 13: We confess we cannot admire the sagacity of those who have contended that Schiller's passion for Laura was purely Platonic.]
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