The subject most at heart, more near and near, Like doves about a dovecote, wheeling round The central wish, until we settled there. 220 Then, in that time and place, I spoke to her, Requiring, tho' I knew it was mine own, Yet for the pleasure that I took to hear, Requiring at her hand the greatest gift, A woman's heart, the heart of her I loved; And in that time and place she answer'd me, And in the compass of three little words, More musical than ever came in one, The silver fragments of a broken voice, Made me most happy, faltering, “I am thine." Shall I cease here? Is this enough to say That my desire, like all strongest hopes, By its own energy fulfill'd itself, 230 Merged in completion? Would you learn at full How passion rose thro' circumstantial grades eyes, Holding the folded annals of my youth; went by, And with a flying finger swept my lips, bar 240 The secret bridal chambers of the heart, Let in the day." Here, then, my words have end. Yet might I tell of meetings, of farewellsOf that which came between, more sweet than each, In whispers, like the whispers of the leaves That tremble round a nightingale-in sighs Which perfect Joy, perplex'd for utterance, 250 Stole from her sister Sorrow. Might I not tell Of difference, reconcilement, pledges given, And vows, where there was never need of Vows, And kisses, where the heart on one wild leap Hung tranced from all pulsation, as above The heavens between their fairy fleeces pale Sow'd all their mystic gulfs with fleeting stars; 260 Or while the balmy glooming, crescent-lit, Spread the light haze along the river-shores, And in the hollows; or as once we met Unheedful, tho' beneath a whispering rain Night slid down one long stream of sighing wind, And in her bosom bore the baby, Sleep. But this whole hour your eyes have been intent On that veil'd picture-veil'd, for what it May not be dwelt on by the common day. soul; Make thine heart ready with thine eyes: the time Is come to raise the veil. Behold her there, 270 LOVE AMONG THE RUINS WHERE the quiet-colored end of evening smiles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop As they crop— Was the site once of a city great and gay, (So they say) Of our country's very capital, its prince Ages since Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far Peace or war. Now, the country does not even boast a tree, As you see, To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain 'lls From the hills 12 Intersect and give a name to, (else they run Into one,) Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O'er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all, Made of marble, men might march on nor be pressed, Twelve abreast. And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o'erspreads Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Lust of glory pricked their hearts up, dread of shame Struck them tame; And that glory and that shame alike, the gold Now, the single little turret that remains By the caper overrooted, by the gourd Overscored, While the patching houseleek's head of blossom winks Through the chinks 24 36 Marks the basement whence a tower in ancient time Sprang sublime, And a burning ring, all round, the chariots traced As they raced, And the monarch and his minions and his dames Viewed the games. And I know, while thus the quiet-colored eve Smiles to leave To their folding, all our many-tinkling fleece And the slopes and rills in undistinguished gray That a girl with eager eyes and yellow hair In the turret whence the charioteers caught soul When the king looked, where she looks now, breathless, dumb Till I come. But he looked upon the city, every side, Far and wide, All the mountains topped with temples, all the grades' Colonnades, All the causeys, bridges, aqueducts,—and then, All the men! 48 60 |