‘My memory of Heaven awakes!
She’s not of the earth, although her light,
As lantern’d by her body, makes
A piece of it past bearing bright.
So innocently proud and fair
She is, that Wisdom sings for glee
And Folly dies, breathing one air
With such a bright-cheek’d chastity;
And though her charms are a strong law
Compelling all men to admire,
They go so clad with lovely awe
None but the noble dares desire.
He who would seek to make her his
Will comprehend that souls of grace
Own sweet repulsion, and that ’tis
The quality of their embrace
To be like the majestic reach
Of coupled suns, that, from afar,
Mingle their mutual spheres, while each
Circles the twin obsequious star;
And, in the warmth of hand to hand,
Of heart to heart, he’ll vow to note
And reverently understand
How the two spirits shine remote;
And ne’er to numb fine honour’s nerve,
Nor let sweet awe in passion melt,
Nor fail by courtesies to observe
The space which makes attraction felt;
Nor cease to guard like life the sense
Which tells him that the embrace of love
Is o’er a gulf of difference
Love cannot sound, nor death remove.’
2
This learn’d I, watching where she danced,
Native to melody and light,
And now and then toward me glanced,
Pleased, as I hoped, to please my sight.
3
Ah, love to speak was impotent,
Till music did a tongue confer,
And I ne’er knew what music meant,
Until I danced to it with her.
Too proud of the sustaining power
Of my, till then, unblemish’d joy.
My passion, for reproof, that hour
Tasted mortality’s alloy,
And bore me down an eddying gulf;
I wish’d the world might run to wreck,
So I but once might fling myself
Obliviously about her neck.
I press’d her hand, by will or chance
I know not, but I saw the rays
Withdrawn, which did till then enhance
Her fairness with its thanks for praise.
I knew my spirit’s vague offence
Was patent to the dreaming eye
And heavenly tact of innocence,
And did for fear my fear defy,
And ask’d her for the next dance. ‘Yes.’
‘No,’ had not fall’n with half the force.
She was fulfill’d with gentleness,
And I with measureless remorse;
And, ere I slept, on bended knee
I own’d myself, with many a tear,
Unseasonable, disorderly,
And a deranger of love’s sphere;
Gave thanks that, when we stumble and fall,
We hurt ourselves, and not the truth;
And, rising, found its brightness all
The brighter through the tears of ruth.
4
Nor was my hope that night made less,
Though order’d, humbled, and reproved;
Her farewell did her heart express
As much, but not with anger, moved.
My trouble had my soul betray’d;
And, in the night of my despair,
My love, a flower of noon afraid,
Divulged its fulness unaware.
I saw she saw; and, O sweet Heaven,
Could my glad mind have credited
That influence had to me been given
To affect her so, I should have said
That, though she from herself conceal’d
Love’s felt delight and fancied harm,
They made her face the jousting field
Of joy and beautiful alarm.