And chords of feeling that erewhile had slept
In voiceless music, and o’er all the theme
An ever-changing, ever-sounding tone,
Was deep, immaculate, immortal Love!
THE SPIRIT-BRIDAL.
The Night had closed her eye of softest blue,
And, like a wearied infant, sank to rest
On Nature’s gentle bosom—Silence, pale,
With a white finger on her marble lip,
From which no lightest whisper ever came,