XV. WHY did I laugh to-night? No voice will tell; Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease, My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads; Yet would I on this very midnight cease, And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds; Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed, But Death intenser - Death is Life's high meed. 1819. L 28 XVI. ON A DREAM. As Hermes once took to his feathers light, So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, so bereft Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies, Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw saw, Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form XVII. IF by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd, Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress Than Midas of his coinage, let us be Jealous of dead leaves in the bay-wreath crown: So, if we may not let the Muse be free, She will be bound with garlands of her own. 1819. XVIII. THE day is gone, and all its sweets are gone! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast, Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone, Bright eyes, accomplish'd shape, and lang'rous waist! Faded the flower and all its budded charms, Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes, Faded the shape of beauty from my arms, Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise! Vanish'd unseasonably at shut of eve, When the dusk holiday or holinight— Of fragrant-curtain'd love begins to weave The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight: But, as I've read love's missal through to-day, He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray. XIX. I CRY your mercy - pity-love-ay, love! One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast, Yourself - your soul -in pity give me all, Withhold no atom's atom, or I die, Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall, my Life's purposes 1819. |