As he, that wanderer, brightens when the shaft
Suddenly falls on him. A moment warmed,
He scarcely feels its loveliness before
The light departing leaves his saddened soul
More cold than ere it came.
Thus love once shone
And blessed my life: so vanished into gloom.
I. MY BEAUTIFUL LADY.
I love My Lady; she is very fair;
Her brow is wan, and bound by simple hair:
Her spirit sits aloof, and high,
But glances from her tender eye
In sweetness droopingly.
As a young forest while the wind drives through,
My life is stirred when she breaks on my view;
Her beauty grants my will no choice
But silent awe, till she rejoice
My longing with her voice.
Her warbling voice, though ever low and mild,
Oft makes me feel as strong wine would a child:
And though her hand be airy light
Of touch, it moves me with its might,
As would a sudden fright.
A hawk high poised in air, whose nerved wing-tips
Tremble with might suppressed, before he dips,
In vigilance, hangs less intense
Than I, when her voice holds my sense
Contented in suspense.
Her mention of a thing, august or poor,
Makes it far nobler than it was before:
As where the sun strikes life will gush,
And what is pale receive a flush,
Rich hues, a richer blush.
My Lady’s name, when I hear strangers use,
Not meaning her, sounds to me lax misuse;
I love none but My Lady’s name;
Maud, Grace, Rose, Marian, all the same,
Are harsh, or blank and tame.
My Lady walks as I have seen a swan
Swim where a glory on the water shone:
There ends of willow branches ride,
Quivering in the flowing tide,
By the deep river’s side.