I bow'd to thee. I drew thee to my side,
As one may seize a wrestler in his pride
To try conclusions,—and I felt the rush
Of my heart's blood suffuse me in a blush
That told its tale. But what my tongue would tell
Was spent in sighs, as o'er my spirit fell
The silvery cadence of thy lips' assent;
And every look o'er-ruled me like a spell.
vii.
O devil's joy of dancing, when a tune
Speeds us to Heaven, and night is at the noon
Of all its frolic, all its wild desire!
O thrall of rapt illusions when we tire
Of coy reserve, and all the moments pass
As pass the visions in a magic glass,
And every step is shod with ecstacy,
And every smile is fleck'd with some Alas!
viii.
Was it a moment or a merry span
Of years uncounted when convulsion ran
Right through the veins of me, to make me blest,
And yet accurst, in that revolving quest
Known as a waltz,—if waltz indeed it were
And not a fluttering dream of gauze and vair
And languorous eyes? I scarce can muse thereon
Without a pang too sweet for me to bear!
ix.
By right of music, for a fleeting term,
Mine arms enwound thee and I held thee firm
There on my breast,—so near, yet so remote,
So close about me that I seem'd to float
In sunlit rapture,—touch'd I know not how
By some suggestion of a deeper vow
Than men are 'ware of when, on Glory's track,
They kneel to angels with uplifted brow.