Night after night I see thee, in my dreams,
As fair as Daphne, with the morning beams
Of thy bright locks about thee like a cloak,—
Fair as the young Aurora when she woke
At Phæthon's call, athwart the mountain-heights.
I see thee radiant in the summer nights,
And, bosom-pack'd with frenzies unrepress'd,
I thrill to thee in Slumber's soft delights.
xiv.
I see thee pout. I see thee in disdain
Look out, reluctant, through the falling rain
Of thy long hair. I feel thee close at hand.
I note thy breathing as I loose the band
That binds thy waist, and then to waking life
I backward start! Despair is Sorrow's wife;
And I am Sorrow, and Despair's mine own,
To lure me on to madness or to strife.
xv.
My sex offends thee, or the thought of this;
For I did fright thee when I fleck'd a kiss
With too much heat. I should have bow'd to thee,
And left unsaid the word, deception-free,
Which, like a flash, illumed the love within,
My wilfulness was much to blame therein;
But thou wilt shrive me, Sweet! of mine offence
If passion-pangs be deem'd so dark a sin.
xvi.
Oh, give me back my soul that with the same
I may achieve a deed of poet-fame,
Or die belauded on the battle-field!
There's much to seek. My hand is strong to wield
Weapon or pen. If thou consent thereto
Deeds may be done. If not, thine eyes are blue
And Heaven is there,—a two-fold tender shrine
Whose wrath I fear, whose judgment still I rue!
xvii.
I am but half myself. The life in me
Is nigh crush'd out; and, though I seem to see
Glory, and grace, and joy, as in the past,
They are but shadows on the cozening blast,
And dreams of devils and distorted things,
And snakes coiled up that look like wedding rings,
And faded flowers that once were fit for wreaths
In bygone summers and in perish'd springs.