A PORTRAIT
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She was a breath of forest-wild perfume So sweet, one could but stand and drink it in, Until the soul should burst; a dream so thin And airy fine, it seemed a spirit's bloom, And left a haunting fragrance in the room When it had vanished. Garb'd in snowy lynn So rare one knew not where it did begin— A scented sunbeam in a human gloom. And thou hast called her woman, woman only, When thou hadst music yearning at thy tongue To call her Heaven. Aching fancy lonely Still breathes that fragrance in a song unsung, Or wandering, lost deep in a golden dream, Hears sweet white Lurley from a vanished stream. |
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY
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Ah! Thou wert fairer than the early morn, Thy dress all spangled with the dewy flowers— A lynn soft woven in the wondrous hours That hedged about thy dreams. But Lo! the horn Of some far Triton from the sea up-borne Across the bluey hills, and tinted showers Faint limning scenes of Elfin grots and bowers, Bound thee in thrall by misty strands forlorn. Thou couldst not longer bide the sweet low calling Of some sad sea-soul for his wand'ring nymph. Thou couldst not yield to mortal love's enthralling And Nerius calling in thy spirits coralled lymph. O! if our hearts have sweeter balm than tears, It is the call that kissed thy dreaming ears. |
TO MY LOVE