THE POET.
You might think, to look upon them with their arms around each other,
And the tale that he is breathing softly crimsoned on her cheek,
That a sweeter spell enwound them than the love she bears a brother,
And that sweeter words are spoken than the words that brothers speak.
For, fair one, she loves him dearly, dearly as a woman's spirit
Full of gentleness and beauty loves all pure and holy things,
Just as though some blessëd angel, screened from sight, were floating near it,
Fanning every tender feeling into motion with its wings.
So she hears with echoed rapture hopes that in his breast are swelling,
Of the glory and the honour that have sunned his poet's dream,
Charmed him by their bright illusion madly from his quiet dwelling
To immerse him in life's ocean, there to lose him like a stream.
Ay! look in her eyes, poor poet, kiss the tears that tremble brightly
On their fringes till thou deem'st them her pure soul distill'd for thee,
They are true ones, they are fond ones, and that vision, coming nightly,
May refresh thee like a fountain rising 'mid sterility.
Backward from her upturned beauty did he smooth the golden tresses,
That Madonna-like fell clust'ring round the softness of her cheek;
'Twas a frank one, and a fair one, with the grace that truth impresses
Beaming o'er it without shadow, so he gazed but did not speak.
Then he whispered, "Bright May, dear May, in the world where I am going,
Going, it may be unwisely, but some magic draws me on,
There to win the fame and honour with whose fire my soul is glowing,
Thou shalt be my guiding angel, thou shalt be my helicon.
I will paint thee in my verses, thee, so beautiful and tender,
Till that world shall thrill with pleasure, and pure hearts shall cherish thee;
Bright May, dear May, they will love thee, and thy gentleness shall render
Earth again a sunny Eden dedicate to Poesy.
They will crown me for thy beauty, they will love me for thy sweetness,
They will shrine my name in glory, hear it like a household thing,
They will feel the spell of beauty, think of heaven for thy meetness,
Thus I'll do the poet's mission, thou an angel's ministring."
So he went into the wide world with bright hopes around him playing,
Youth to make his footsteps buoyant, and firm trust to nerve his heart,
Fame and glory clear before him like a sun the path arraying,
Witless that the golden vision of his dreams could ere depart.