Sit nearer! near! I kiss thine eyes;
There,—where the white lids part asunder.
I love thee—dost thou hear my sighs?
Love thee beyond the world, thou wonder!
My life is spent. I've nothing left
To tender now, save love's soft duty;
Yet, gaze I,—of all else bereft,—
And feed till death upon thy beauty.
From the London Keepsake
ANIMA MUNDI.
BY RICHARD MONCTON MILNES.
"Anima Mundi"—of thyself existing,
Without diversity or change to fear,
Say, has this life to which we cling persisting,
Part in communion with thy steadfast sphere?
Does thy serene eternity sublime
Embrace the slaves of Circumstance and Time?
Could we remain continually content
To heap fresh pleasure on the coming day,
Could we rest happy in the sole intent
To make the hours more graceful or more gay,
Then must the essence of our nature be
That of the beasts that perish, not of Thee.
But if we mourn, not because time is fleeting,
Not because life is short and some die young,
But because parting ever follows meeting;
And, while our hearts with constant loss are wrung,
Our minds are tossed in doubt from sea to sea,
Then may we claim community with thee.
We cannot live by instincts—forced to let
To-morrow's wave obliterate our to-day—
See faces only once—read and forget—
Behold Truth's rays prismatically play
About our mortal eye and never shine
In one white daylight, simple and divine.