THE sun is warm, the sky is clear,

The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear

The purple noon's transparent light.
The breath of the moist earth is light
Around its unexpanded buds ;
Like many a voice of one delight,

The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
The city's voice itself is soft, like Solitude's.

I see the deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple sea-weeds strown;

I see the waves upon the shore,

Like light dissolv'd in star-showers, thrown.

I sit upon the sands alone,

The lightning of the noon-tide ocean

Is flashing round me, and a tone

Arises from its measur'd motion.

How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.

Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Nor peace within, nor calm around,
Nor that content, surpassing wealth,

The sage in meditation found,

And walk'd with inward glory crown'd

Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Others I see whom these surround

Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;— To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.

Yet now despair itself is mild,

Even as the winds and waters are;

I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care

Which I have borne, and yet must bear,

Till death, like sleep, might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air

My cheek grow wet, and hear the sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.

Some might lament that I was cold,
As I, when this sweet day is gone,
Which my lost heart, too soon grown old,
Insults with this untimely moan :—
They might lament, for I am one

Whom men love not-and yet regret;
Unlike this day, which, when the sun

Shall on its stainless glory set,

Will linger, though enjoy'd, like joy in memory yet.

TO NIGHT.

SWIFTLY walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!

Out of the misty eastern cave,

Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,-
Swift be thy flight!

Wrap thy form in a mantle grey,

Star-inwrought!

Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day,

Kiss her until she be wearied out,

Then wander o'er city, and sea, and sand,

Touching all with thine opiate wand

Come, long-sought!

When I arose and saw the Dawn,

I sigh'd for thee;

When light rode high, and the dew was gone,

And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turn'd to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,

I sigh'd for thee.

Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me?

Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee,
Shall I nestle near thy side?
Wouldst thou me? And I replied,
No, not thee!

Death will come when thou art dead,

Soon, too soon-

Sleep will come when thou art fled:
Of neither would I ask the boon,
I ask of thee, beloved Night--
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon,-soon!

SPRING.

O SPRING! of hope, and love, and youth, and gladness,
White-wing'd emblem! brightest, best, and fairest!
Whence comest thou, when with dark Winter's sadness
The tears that fade in sunny smiles thou sharest?
Sister of joy! thou art the child who wearest
Thy mother's dying smile, tender and sweet;
Thy mother Autumn, for whose grave thou bearest
Fresh flowers, and beams like flowers, with gentle feet
Disturbing not the leaves which are her winding-sheet.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,