Thou darest not say I love, and yet thou lovest,
And think'st to crush the mighty yearning down,
That in thy spirit shall upspring forever!
Twinned with thy soul, it lived in thy first thoughts—
It haunted with strange dreams thy boyish years,
And colored with its deep, empurpled hue,
The passionate aspirations of thy youth.
Go, take from June her roses—from her streams
The bubbling fountain-springs—from life, take love,
Thou hast its all of sweetness, bloom and strength.
There is a grandeur in the soul that dares
To live out all the life God lit within;
That battles with the passions hand to hand,
And wears no mail, and hides behind no shield!
That plucks its joy in the shadow of death's wing—
That drains with one deep draught the wine of life,
And that with fearless foot and heaven-turned eye,
May stand upon a dizzy precipice,
High o'er the abyss of ruin, and not fall!
THE LIGHT OF OUR HOME.
BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.
Oh, thou whose beauty on us beams
With glimpses of celestial light;
Thou halo of our waking dreams,
And early star that crown'st our night—
Thy light is magic where it falls;
To thee the deepest shadow yields;
Thou bring'st unto these dreary halls
The lustre of the summer-fields.
There is a freedom in thy looks
To make the prisoned heart rejoice;—
In thy blue eyes I see the brooks,
And hear their music in thy voice.