When immortal beauty open'd
All its grace to mortal sight,
And the awe of worship blended
With the throbbing of delight.
As the shepherd stood before them
Trembling in the Phrygian dell,
Even so my soul and being
Own'd the magic of the spell;
And I watch'd thee, ever fondly,
Watch'd thee, dearest, from afar,
With the mute and humble homage
Of the Indian to a star.
Thou wert still the Lady Flora
In her morning garb of bloom;
Where thou wert was light and glory,
Where thou wert not, dearth and gloom.
So for many a day I follow'd
For a long and weary while,
Ere my heart rose up to bless thee
For the yielding of a smile,—
Ere thy words were few and broken
As they answer'd back to mine,
Ere my lips had power to thank thee
For the gift vouchsafed by thine.
Then a mighty gush of passion
Through my inmost being ran;
Then my older life was ended,
And a dearer course began.
Dearer!—O, I cannot tell thee
What a load was swept away,
What a world of doubt and darkness
Faded in the dawning day!
All my error, all my weakness,
All my vain delusions fled:
Hope again revived, and gladness
Waved its wings above my head.
Like the wanderer of the desert,
When, across the dreary sand,
Breathes the perfume from the thickets
Bordering on the promised land;