As grains of gold that in the sands
Of Lydian waters shine,
The welcome sign of mountain lands
That veil the silent mine;
Thus may the river of my thought,
That glideth now to thee,
Reveal the wealth as yet unwrought,
Which Love has heap'd in me!
So strove I to enrich the scroll
To thy dear hands consign'd;
I thought to leave the lavish soul
No golden wish behind!
Ah, fool! to think an hour could drain
What life can scarce explore—
Enough, if guided by the grain,
Thy heart should seek the ore!
THE LANGUAGE OF THE EYES.
Those eyes—those eyes—how full of Heaven they are!
When the calm twilight leaves the heaven most holy;
Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star
Did ye drink in your liquid melancholy?
Tell me, belovèd eyes!
Was it from yonder orb that ever by
The quiet moon, like Hope by Patience, hovers,
The star to which hath sped so many a sigh,
Since lutes in Lesbos hallow'd it to Lovers?
Was that your Fount, sweet Eyes?
Ye Sibyl books, in which the truths foretold
Inspire the Heart, your dreaming priest, with gladness,
Bright Alchemists that turn to thoughts of gold
The leaden cares ye steal away from sadness,
Teach only me, sweet Eyes!
Hush! when I ask ye how, at length, to gain
The cell where Love, the sleeper, yet lies hidden,
Loose not those arch lips from their rosy chain;
Be every answer, save your own, forbidden—
Feelings are words for Eyes!