Pauline, Mine Own, Bend O'Er Me Thy Soft Breast Shall Pant To Mine Bend O'Er Me Thy Sweet Eyes, And Loosened Hair, And Breathing Lips, Arms Drawing Me To Thee These Build Up A Screen To Shut Me In With Thee, And From All Fear, So That I Might Unlock The Sleepless Brood Of Fancies From My Soul, Their Lurking Place, Nor Doubt That Each Would Pass, Ne'er To Return To One So Watched, So Loved, And So Secured. But What Can Guard Thee But Thy Naked Love? Ah, Dearest; Whoso Sucks A Poisoned Wound Envenoms His Own Veins, Thou Art So Good, So Calm If Thou Should'St Wear A Brow Less Light For Some Wild Thought Which, But For Me, Were Kept From Out Thy Soul, As From A Sacred Star. Yet Till I Have Unlocked Them It Were Vain To Hope To Sing; Some Woe Would Light On Me; Nature Would Point At One, Whose Quivering Lip Was Bathed In Her Enchantments Whose Brow Burned Beneath The Crown, To Which Her Secrets Knelt; Who Learned The Spell Which Can Call Up The Dead, And Then Departed, Smiling Like A Fiend Who Has Deceived God. If Such One Should Seek Again Her Altars, And Stand Robed And Crowned Amid The Faithful: Sad Confession First, Remorse And Pardon, And Old Claims Renewed, Ere I Can Be As I Shall Be No More. I Had Been Spared This Shame, If I Had Sate By Thee For Ever, From The First, In Place Of My Wild Dreams Of Beauty And Of Good, Or With Them, As An Earnest Of Their Truth. No Thought Nor Hope, Having Been Shut From Thee, No Vague Wish Unexplained No Wandering Aim Sent Back To Bind On Fancy'S Wings, And Seek Some Strange Fair World, Where It Might Be A Law; But Doubting Nothing, Had Been Led By Thee, Thro' Youth, And Saved, As One At Length Awaked, Who Has Slept Thro' A Peril. Ah! Vain, Vain! Thou Lovest Me The Past Is In Its Grave, Tho' Its Ghost Haunts Us Till This Much Is Ours, To Cast Away Restraint, Lest A Worse Thing Wait For Us In The Darkness. Thou Lovest Me, And Thou Art To Receive Not Love, But Faith, For Which Thou Wilt Be Mine, And Smile, And Take All Shapes, And Shames, And Veil Without A Fear That Form Which Music Follows Like A Slave; And I Look To Thee, And I Trust In Thee, As In A Northern Night One Looks Alway Unto The East For Morn, And Spring A Joy. Thou Seest Then My Aimless, Hopeless State, And Resting On Some Few Old Feelings, Won Back By Thy Beauty, Would'St That I Essay The Task, Which Was To Me What Now Thou Art: And Why Should I Conceal One Weakness More? Thou Wilt Remember One Warm Morn, When Winter Crept Aged From The Earth, And Spring'S First Breath Blew Soft From The Moist Hills The Black-Thorn Boughs, So Dark In The Bare Wood; When Glistening In The Sunshine Were White With Coming Buds, Like The Bright Side Of A Sorrow And The Banks Had Violets Opening From Sleep Like Eyes I Walked With Thee, Who Knew Not A Deep Shame Lurked Beneath Smiles And Careless Words, Which Sought To Hide It Till They Wandered And Were Mute; As We Stood Listening On A Sunny Mound To The Wind Murmuring In The Damp Copse, Like Heavy Breathings Of Some Hidden Thing Betrayed By Sleep Until The Feeling Rushed That I Was Low Indeed, Yet Not So Low As To Endure The Calmness Of Thine Eyes; And So I Told Thee All, While The Cool Breast I Leaned On Altered Not Its Quiet Beating; And Long Ere Words, Like A Hurt Bird'S Complaint, Bade Me Look Up And Be What I Had Been, I Felt Despair Could Never Live By Thee. Thou Wilt Remember: Thou Art Not More Dear Than Song Was Once To Me; And I Ne'er Sung But As One Entering Bright Halls, Where All Will Rise And Shout For Him Sure I Must Own That I Am Fallen Having Chosen Gifts Distinct From Theirs That I Am Sad And Fain Would Give Up All To Be But Where I Was; Not High As I Had Been, If Faithful Found But Low And Weak, Yet Full Of Hope, And Sure Of Goodness As Of Life That I Would Lust All This Gay Mastery Of Mind, To Sit Once More With Them, Trusting In Truth And Love. And With An Aim Not Being What I Am. Oh, Pauline! I Am Ruined! Who Believed That Tho' My Soul Had Floated From Its Sphere Of Wide Dominion Into The Dim Orb Of Self That It Was Strong And Free As Ever: It Has Conformed Itself To That Dim Orb, Reflecting All Its Shades And Shapes, And Now Must Stay Where It Alone Can Be Adored. I Have Felt This In Dreams In Dreams In Which I Seemed The Fate From Which I Fled; I Felt A Strange Delight In Causing My Decay; I Was A Fiend, In Darkness Chained For Ever Within Some Ocean-Cave; And Ages Rolled, Till Thro' The Cleft Rock, Like A Moonbeam, Came A White Swan To Remain With Me; And Ages Rolled, Yet I Tired Not Of My First Joy In Gazing On The Peace Of Its Pure Wings. And Then I Said, 'It Is Most Fair To Me, 'Yet Its Soft Wings Must Sure Have Suffered Change 'From The Thick Darkness Sure Its Eyes Are Dim 'Its Silver Pinions Must Be Cramped And Numbed 'With Sleeping Ages Here; It Cannot Leave Me, 'For It Would Seem, In Light, Beside Its Kind, 'Withered Tho' Here To Me Most Beautiful.' And Then I Was A Young Witch, Whose Blue Eyes, As She Stood Naked By The River Springs, Drew Down A God I Watched His Radiant Form Growing Less Radiant And It Gladdened Me; Till One Morn, As He Sat In The Sunshine Upon My Knees, Singing To Me Of Heaven, He Turned To Look At Me, Ere I Could Lose The Grin With Which I Viewed His Perishing. And He Shrieked And Departed, And Sat Long By His Deserted Throne But Sunk At Last, Murmuring, As I Kissed His Lips And Curled Around Him, 'I Am Still A God To Thee.' Still I Can Lay My Soul Bare In Its Fall, For All The Wandering And All The Weakness Will He A Saddest Comment On The Song. And If, That Done, I Can Be Young Again, I Will Give Up All Gained As Willingly As One Gives Up A Charm Which Shuts Him Out From Hope, Or Part, Or Care, In Human Kind. As Life Wanes, All Its Cares, And Strife, And Toil, Seem Strangely Valueless, While The Old Trees Which Grew By Our Youth'S Home The Waving Mass Of Climbing Plants, Heavy With Bloom And Dew The Morning Swallows With Their Songs Like Words, All These Seem Clear And Only Worth Our Thoughts. So Aught Connected With My Early Life My Rude Songs Or My Wild Imaginings, How I Look On Them Most Distinct Amid The Fever And The Stir Of After Years! I Ne'er Had Ventured E'En To Hope For This, Had Not The Glow I Felt At His Award, Assured Me All Was Not Extinct Within. Him Whom All Honor Whose Renown Springs Up Like Sunlight Which Will Visit All The World; So That E'En They Who Sneered At Him At First, Come Out To It, As Some Dark Spider Crawls From His Foul Nest, Which Some Lit Torch Invades, Yet Spinning Still New Films For His Retreat. Thou Didst Smile, Poet, But Can We Forgive? Sun-Treader Life And Light Be Thine For Ever; Thou Art Gone From Us Years Go By And Spring Gladdens, And The Young Earth Is Beautiful, Yet Thy Songs Come Not Other Bards Arise, But None Like Thee They Stand Thy Majesties, Like Mighty Works Which Tell Some Spirit There Hath Sat Regardless Of Neglect And Scorn, Till, Its Long Task Completed, It Hath Risen And Left Us, Never To Return: And All Rush In To Peer And Praise When All In Vain. The Air Seems Bright With Thy Past Presence Yet, But Thou Art Still For Me, As Thou Hast Been When I Have Stood With Thee, As On A Throne With All Thy Dim Creations Gathered Round Like Mountains, And I Felt Of Mould Like Them, And Creatures Of My Own Were Mixed With Them, Like Things Half-Lived, Catching And Giving Life. But Thou Art Still For Me, Who Have Adored, Tho' Single, Panting But To Hear Thy Name, Which I Believed A Spell To Me Alone, Scarce Deeming Thou Wert As A Star To Men As One Should Worship Long A Sacred Spring Scarce Worth A Moth'S Flitting, Which Long Grasses Cross, And One Small Tree Embowers Droopingly, Joying To See Some Wandering Insect Won. To Live In Its Few Rushes Or Some Locust To Pasture On Its Boughs Or Some Wild Bird Stoop For Its Freshness From The Trackless Air, And Then Should Find It But The Fountain-Head, Long Lost, Of Some Great River Washing Towns And Towers, And Seeing Old Woods Which Will Live But By Its Banks, Untrod Of Human Foot, Which, When The Great Sun Sinks, Lie Quivering In Light As Some Thing Lieth Half Of Life Before God'S Foot Waiting A Wondrous Change Then Girt With Rocks Which Seek To Turn Or Stay Its Course In Vain, For It Does Ever Spread Like A Sea'S Arm As It Goes Rolling On, Being The Pulse Of Some Great Country So Wert Thou To Me And Art Thou To The World. And I, Perchance, Half Feel A Strange Regret, That I Am Not What I Have Been To Thee: Like A Girl One Has Loved Long Silently, In Her First Loveliness, In Some Retreat, When First Emerged, All Gaze And Glow To View Her Fresh Eyes, And Soft Hair, And Lips Which Bleed Like A Mountain Berry. Doubtless It Is Sweet To See Her Thus Adored But There Have Been Moments, When All The World Was In His Praise, Sweeter Than All The Pride Of After Hours. Yet, Sun-Treader, All Hail! From My Heart'S Heart I Bid Thee Hail! E'En In My Wildest Dreams, I Am Proud To Feel I Would Have Thrown Up All The Wreaths Of Fame Which Seemed O'Er-Hanging Me, To Have Seen Thee, For A Moment, As Thou Art. And If Thou Livest If Thou Lovest, Spirit! Remember Me, Who Set This Final Seal To Wandering Thought That One So Pure As Thou Could Never Die. Remember Me, Who Flung All Honor From My Soul Yet Paused And Said, 'There Is One Spark Of Love Remaining Yet, 'For I Have Nought In Common With Him Shapes 'Which Followed Him Avoid Me, And Foul Forms 'Seek Me, Which Ne'er Could Fasten On His Mind; 'And Tho' I Feel How Low I Am To Him, 'Yet I Aim Not Even To Catch A Tone 'Of All The Harmonies Which He Called Up, 'So One Gleam Still Remains, Altho' The Last' Remember Me Who Praise Thee E'En With Tears, For Never More Shall I Walk Calm With Thee; Thy Sweet Imaginings Are As An Air, A Melody, Some Wond'Rous Singer Sings, Which, Though It Haunt Men Oft In The Still Eve, They Dream Not To Essay; Yet It No Less, But More Is Honored. I Was Thine In Shame, And Now When All Thy Proud Renown Is Out, I Am A Watcher, Whose Eyes Have Grown Dim With Looking For Some Star Which Breaks On Him, Altered And Worn, And Weak, And Full Of Tears. Autumn Has Come Like Spring Returned To Us, Won From Her Girlishness Like One Returned A Friend That Was A Lover Nor Forgets The First Warm Love, But Full Of Sober Thoughts Of Fading Years; Whose Soft Mouth Quivers Yet With The Old Smile But Yet So Changed And Still! And Here Am I The Scoffer, Who Have Probed Life'S Vanity, Won By A Word Again Into My Old Life For One Little Word Of This Sweet Friend, Who Lives In Loving Me, Lives Strangely On My Thoughts, And Looks, And Words, As Fathoms Down Some Nameless Ocean Thing Its Silent Course Of Quietness And Joy O Dearest, If Indeed, I Tell The Past, May'St Thou Forget It As A Sad Sick Dream; Or If It Linger My Lost Soul Too Soon Sinks To Itself, And Whispers, We Shall Be But Closer Linked Two Creatures Whom The Earth Bears Singly With Strange Feelings, Unrevealed But To Each Other; Or Two Lonely Things Created By Some Power, Whose Reign Is Done, Having No Part In God, Or His Bright World, I Am To Sing; Whilst Ebbing Day Dies Soft, As A Lean Scholar Dies, Worn O'Er His Book, And In The Heaven Stars Steal Out One By One, As Hunted Men Steal To Their Mountain Watch. I Must Not Think Lest This New Impulse Die In Which I Trust. I Have No Confidence, So I Will Sing On Fast As Fancies Come Rudely The Verse Being As The Mood It Paints. I Strip My Mind Bare Whose First Elements I Shall Unveil Not As They Struggled Forth In Infancy, Nor As They Now Exist, That I Am Grown Above Them, And Can Rule Them, But In That Middle Stage When They Were Full, Yet Ere I Had Disposed Them To My Will; And Then I Shall Show How These Elements Produced My Present State, And What It Is. I Am Made Up Of An Intensest Life, Of A Most Clear Idea Of Consciousness Of Self Distinct From All Its Qualities, From All Affections, Passions, Feelings, Powers; And Thus Far It Exists, If Tracked In All, But Linked In Me, To Self-Supremacy, Existing As A Centre To All Things, Most Potent To Create, And Rule, And Call Upon All Things To Minister To It; And To A Principle Of Restlessness Which Would Be All, Have, See, Know, Taste, Feel, All This Is Myself; And I Should Thus Have Been, Though Gifted Lower Than The Meanest Soul. And Of My Powers, One Springs Up To Save From Utter Death A Soul With Such Desires Confined To Clay Which Is The Only One Which Marks Me An Imagination Which Has Been An Angel To Me Coming Not In Fitful Visions, But Beside Me Ever, And Never Failing Me; So Tho' My Mind Forgets Not Not A Shred Of Life Forgets Yet I Can Take A Secret Pride In Calling The Dark Past Up To Quell It Regally. A Mind Like This Must Dissipate Itself, But I Have Always Had One Lode-Star; Now, As I Look Back, I See That I Have Wasted, Or Progressed As I Looked Toward That Star A Need, A Trust, A Yearning After God, A Feeling I Have Analysed But Late, But It Existed, And Was Reconciled With A Neglect Of All I Deemed His Laws, Which Yet, When Seen In Others, I Abhorred. I Felt As One Beloved, And So Shut In From Fear And Thence I Date My Trust In Signs And Omens For I Saw God Everywhere; And I Can Only Lay It To The Fruit Of A Sad After-Time That I Could Doubt Even His Being Having Always Felt His Presence Never Acting From Myself, Still Trusting In A Hand That Leads Me Through All Dangers; And This Feeling Still Has Fought Against My Weakest Reason And Resolves. And I Can Love Nothing And This Dull Truth Has Come The Last But Sense Supplies A Love Encircling Me And Mingling With My Life. These Make Myself For I Have Sought In Vain To Trace How They Were Formed By Circumstance, For I Still Find Them Turning My Wild Youth Where They Alone Displayed Themselves, Converting All Objects To Their Use Now See Their Course! They Came To Me In My First Dawn Of Life, Which Passed Alone With Wisest Ancient Books, All Halo-Girt With Fancies Of My Own, And I Myself Went With The Tale, A God, Wandering After Beauty Or A Giant, Standing Vast In The Sunset An Old Hunter, Talking With Gods Or A High-Crested Chief, Sailing With Troops Of Friends To Tenedos; I Tell You, Nought Has Ever Been So Clear As The Place, The Time, The Fashion Of Those Lives. I Had Not Seen A Work Of Lofty Art, Nor Woman'S Beauty, Nor Sweet Nature'S Face, Yet, I Say, Never Morn Broke Clear As Those On The Dim Clustered Isles In The Blue Sea: The Deep Groves, And White Temples, And Wet Caves And Nothing Ever Will Surprise Me Now Who Stood Beside The Naked Swift-Footed, Who Bound My Forehead With Proserpine'S Hair. An' Strange It Is, That I Who Could So Dream, Should E'Er Have Stooped To Aim At Aught Beneath Aught Low, Or Painful, But I Never Doubted; So As I Grew, I Rudely Shaped My Life To My Immediate Wants, Yet Strong Beneath Was A Vague Sense Of Power Folded Up A Sense That Tho' Those Shadowy Times Were Past, Their Spirit Dwelt In Me, And I Should Rule. Then Came A Pause, And Long Restraint Chained Down My Soul, Till It Was Changed. I Lost Myself, And Were It Not That I So Loathe That Time, I Could Recall How First I Learned To Turn My Mind Against Itself; And The Effects, In Deeds For Which Remorse Were Vain, As For The Wanderings Of Delirious Dream; Yet Thence Came Cunning, Envy, Falsehood, Which So Long Have Spotted Me At Length I Was Restored, Yet Long The Influence Remained; And Nought But The Still Life I Led, Apart From All, Which Left My Soul To Seek Its Old Delights, Could E'Er Have Brought Me Thus Far Back To Peace. As Peace Returned, I Sought Out Some Pursuit: And Song Rose No New Impulse But The One With Which All Others Best Could Be Combined. My Life Has Not Been That Of Those Whose Heaven Was Lampless, Save Where Poesy Shone Out; But As A Clime, Where Glittering Mountain-Tops, And Glancing Sea, And Forests Steeped In Light, Give Back Reflected The Far-Flashing Sun; For Music, (Which Is Earnest Of A Heaven, Seeing We Know Emotions Strange By It, Not Else To Be Revealed) Is As A Voice, A Low Voice Calling Fancy, As A Friend, To The Green Woods In The Gay Summer Time. And She Fills All The Way With Dancing Shapes, Which Have Made Painters Pale; And They Go On While Stars Look At Them, And Winds Call To Them, As They Leave Life'S Path For The Twilight World, Where The Dead Gather. This Was Not At First, For I Scarce Knew What I Would Do. I Had No Wish To Paint, No Yearning But I Sang. And First I Sang, As I In Dream Have Seen, Music Wait On A Lyrist For Some Thought, Yet Singing To Herself Until It Came. I Turned To Those Old Times And Scenes, Where All That'S Beautiful Had Birth For Me, And Made Rude Verses On Them All; And Then I Paused I Had Done Nothing, So I Sought To Know What Mind Had Yet Achieved. No Fear Was Mine As I Gazed On The Works Of Mighty Bards, In The First Joy At Finding My Own Thoughts Recorded, And My Powers Exemplified, And Feeling Their Aspirings Were My Own. And Then I First Explored Passion And Mind; And I Began Afresh; I Rather Sought To Rival What I Wondered At, Than Form Creations Of My Own; So Much Was Light Lent Back By Others, Yet Much Was My Own I Paused Again A Change Was Coming On, I Was No More A Boy The Past Was Breaking Before The Coming, And Like Fever Worked. I First Thought On Myself And Here My Powers Burst Out. I Dreamed Not Of Restraint, But Gazed On All Things: Schemes And Systems Went And Came, And I Was Proud (Being Vainest Of The Weak), In Wandering O'Er Them, To Seek Out Some One To Be My Own; As One Should Wander O'Er The White Way For A Star. . . . . . On One, Whom Praise Of Mine Would Not Offend, Who Was As Calm As Beauty Being Such Unto Mankind As Thou To Me, Pauline, Believing In Them, And Devoting All His Soul'S Strength To Their Winning Back To Peace; Who Sent Forth Hopes And Longings For Their Sake, Clothed In All Passion'S Melodies, Which First Caught Me, And Set Me, As To A Sweet Task, To Gather Every Breathing Of His Songs, And Woven With Them There Were Words, Which Seemed A Key To A New World; The Muttering Of Angels, Of Something Unguessed By Man. How My Heart Beat, As I Went On, And Found Much There! I Felt My Own Mind Had Conceived, But There Living And Burning; Soon The Whole Of His Conceptions Dawned On Me; Their Praise Is In The Tongues Of Men; Men'S Brows Are High When His Name Means A Triumph And A Pride; So My Weak Hands May Well Forbear To Dim What Then Seemed My Bright Fate: I Threw Myself To Meet It. I Was Vowed To Liberty, Men Were To Be As Gods, And Earth As Heaven. And I Ah! What A Life Was Mine To Be, My Whole Soul Rose To Meet It. Now, Pauline, I Shall Go Mad If I Recall That Time. . . . . . O Let Me Look Back, E'Er I Leave For Ever The Time, Which Was An Hour, That One Waits For A Fair Girl, That Comes A Withered Hag. And I Was Lonely Far From Woods And Fields, And Amid Dullest Sights, Who Should Be Loose As A Stag Yet I Was Full Of Joy Who Lived With Plato And Who Had The Key To Life. And I Had Dimly Shaped My First Attempt, And Many A Thought Did I Build Up On Thought, As The Wild Bee Hangs Cell To Cell In Vain; For I Must Still Go On: My Mind Rests Not. 'Twas In My Plan To Look On Real Life, Which Was All New To Me; My Theories Were Firm, So I Left Them, To Look Upon Men, And Their Cares, And Hopes, And Fears, And Joys; And, As I Pondered On Them All, I Sought How Best Life'S End Might Be Attained An End Comprising Every Joy. I Deeply Mused. And Suddenly, Without Heart-Wreck, I Awoke As From A Dream I Said, 'Twas Beautiful, Yet But A Dream; And So Adieu To It. As Some World-Wanderer Sees In A Far Meadow Strange Towers, And Walled Gardens, Thick With Trees, Where Singing Goes On, And Delicious Mirth, And Laughing Fairy Creatures Peeping Over, And On The Morrow, When He Comes To Live For Ever By Those Springs, And Trees, Fruit-Flushed And Fairy Bowers All His Search Is Vain. Well I Remember . . . First Went My Hopes Of Perfecting Mankind, And Faith In Them Then Freedom In Itself, And Virtue In Itself And Then My Motives' Ends, And Powers And Loves; And Human Love Went Last. I Felt This No Decay, Because New Powers Rose As Old Feelings Left Wit, Mockery, And Happiness; For I Had Oft Been Sad. Mistrusting My Resolves: But Now I Cast Hope Joyously Away I Laughed And Said, 'No More Of This' I Must Not Think; At Length I Look'D Again To See How All Went On. My Powers Were Greater As Some Temple Seemed My Soul, Where Nought Is Changed, And Incense Rolls Around The Altar Only God Is Gone, And Some Dark Spirit Sitteth In His Seat! So I Passed Through The Temple: And To Me Knelt Troops Of Shadows; And They Cried, 'Hail, King! 'We Serve Thee Now, And Thou Shalt Serve No More! 'Call On Us, Prove Us, Let Us Worship Thee!' And I Said, 'Are Ye Strong Let Fancy Bear Me 'Far From The Past.' And I Was Borne Away As Arab Birds Float Sleeping In The Wind, O'Er Deserts, Towers, And Forests, I Being Calm; And I Said, 'I Have Nursed Up Energies, 'They Will Prey On Me.' And A Band Knelt Low, And Cried, 'Lord, We Are Here, And We Will Make 'A Way For Thee In Thine Appointed Life 'O Look On Us!' And I Said, 'Ye Will Worship 'Me; But My Heart Must Worship Too.' They Shouted, 'Thyself Thou Art Our King!' So I Stood There Smiling . . . And Buoyant And Rejoicing Was The Spirit With Which I Looked Out How To End My Days; I Felt Once More Myself My Powers Were Mine; I Found That Youth Or Health So Lifted Me, That, Spite Of All Life'S Vanity, No Grief Came Nigh Me I Must Ever Be Light-Hearted; And That This Feeling Was The Only Veil Betwixt Me And Despair: So If Age Came, I Should Be As A Wreck Linked To A Soul Yet Fluttering, Or Mind-Broken, And Aware Of My Decay. So A Long Summer Morn Found Me; And E'Er Noon Came, I Had Resolved No Age Should Come On Me, Ere Youth'S Hopes Went, For I Would Wear Myself Out Like That Morn Which Wasted Not A Sunbeam Every Joy I Would Make Mine, And Die; And Thus I Sought To Chain My Spirit Down, Which I Had Fed With Thoughts Of Fame. I Said, The Troubled Life Of Genius Seen So Bright When Working Forth Some Trusted End, Seems Sad, When All In Vain Most Sad, When Men Have Parted With All Joy For Their Wild Fancy'S Sake, Which Waited First, As An Obedient Spirit, When Delight Came Not With Her Alone, But Alters Soon, Coming Darkened, Seldom, Hasting To Depart, Leaving A Heavy Darkness And Warm Tears. But I Shall Never Lose Her; She Will Live Brighter For Such Seclusion I But Catch A Hue, A Glance Of What I Sing; So Pain Is Linked With Pleasure, For I Ne'er May Tell The Radiant Sights Which Dazzle Me; But Now They Shall Be All My Own, And Let Them Fade Untold Others Shall Rise As Fair, As Fast. And When All'S Done, The Few Dim Gleams Transferred, (For A New Thought Sprung Up That It Were Well To Leave All Shadowy Hopes, And Weave Such Lays As Would Encircle Me With Praise And Love; So I Should Not Die Utterly I Should Bring One Branch From The Gold Forest, Like The Night Of Old Tales, Witnessing I Had Been There,) And When All'S Done, How Vain Seems E'En Success, And All The Influence Poets Have O'Er Men! 'Tis A Fine Thing That One, Weak As Myself, Should Sit In His Lone Room, Knowing The Words He Utters In His Solitude Shall Move Men Like A Swift Wind That Tho' He Be Forgotten, Fair Eyes Shall Glisten When His Beauteous Dreams Of Love Come True In Happier Frames Than His. Ay, The Still Night Brought Thoughts Like These, But Morn Came, And The Mockery Again Laughed Out At Hollow Praises, And Smiles, Almost Sneers; And My Soul'S Idol Seemed To Whisper Me To Dwell With Him And His Unhonoured Name And I Well Knew My Spirit, That Would Be First In The Struggle, And Again Would Make All Bow To It; And I Would Sink Again. . . . . . And Then Know That This Curse Will Come On Us, To See Our Idols Perish We May Wither, Nor Marvel We Are Clay; But Our Low Fate Should Not Extend Them, Whom Trustingly, We Sent Before Into Time'S Yawning Gulf, To Face What E'Er May Lurk In Darkness There To See The Painter'S Glory Pass, And Feel Sweet Music Move Us Not As Once, Or Worst, To See Decaying Wits Ere The Frail Body Decays. Nought Makes Me Trust In Love So Really, As The Delight Of The Contented Lowness With Which I Gaze On Souls I'D Keep For Ever In Beauty I'D Be Sad To Equal Them; I'D Feed Their Fame E'En From My Heart'S Best Blood, Withering Unseen, That They Might Flourish Still. . . . . . Pauline, My Sweet Friend, Thou Dost Not Forget How This Mood Swayed Me, When Thou First Wert Mine, When I Had Set Myself To Live This Life, Defying All Opinion. Ere Thou Camest I Was Most Happy, Sweet, For Old Delights Had Come Like Birds Again; Music, My Life, I Nourished More Than Ever, And Old Lore Loved For Itself, And All It Shows The King Treading The Purple Calmly To His Death, While Round Him, Like The Clouds Of Eve, All Dusk, The Giant Shades Of Fate, Silently Flitting, Pile The Dim Outline Of The Coming Doom, And Him Sitting Alone In Blood, While Friends Are Hunting Far In The Sunshine; And The Boy, With His White Breast And Brow And Clustering Curls Streaked With His Mother'S Blood, And Striving Hard To Tell His Story Ere His Reason Goes, And When I Loved Thee, As I'Ve Loved So Oft, Thou Lovedst Me, And I Wondered, And Looked In My Heart To Find Some Feeling Like Such Love, Believing I Was Still What I Had Been; And Soon I Found All Faith Had Gone From Me, And The Late Glow Of Life Changing Like Clouds, 'Twas Not The Morn-Blush Widening Into Day, But Evening, Coloured By The Dying Sun While Darkness Is Quick Hastening: I Will Tell Sly State As Though 'Twere None Of Mine Despair Cannot Come Near Me Thus It Is With Me. Souls Alter Not, And Mine Must Progress Still; And This I Knew Not When I Flung Away My Youth'S Chief Aims. I Ne'er Supposed The Of What Few I Retained; For No Resource Awaits Me Now Behold The Change Of All. I Cannot Chain My Soul, It Will Not Rest In Its Clay Prison; This Most Narrow Sphere It Has Strange Powers, And Feelings, And Desires, Which I Cannot Account For, Nor Explain, But Which I Stifle Not, Being Bound To Trust All Feelings Equally To Hear All Sides: Yet I Cannot Indulge Them, And They Live, Referring To Some State Or Life Unknown. . . . My Selfishness Is Satiated Not, It Wears Me Like A Flame; My Hunger For All Pleasure, Howsoe'Er Minute, Is Pain; I Envy How I Envy Him Whose Mind Turns With Its Energies To Some One End! To Elevate A Sect, Or A Pursuit, However Mean So My Still Baffled Hopes Seek Out Abstractions; I Would Have But One Delight On Earth, So It Were Wholly Mine; One Rapture All My Soul Could Fill And This Wild Feeling Places Me In Dream Afar, In Some Wide Country, Where The Eye Can See No End To The Far Hills And Dales Bestrewn With Shining Towers And Dwellings. I Grow Mad Well-Nigh, To Know Not One Abode But Holds Some Pleasure For My Soul Could Grasp Them All, But Must Remain With This Vile Form. I Look With Hope To Age At Last, Which Quenching Much, May Let Me Concentrate The Sparks It Spares. This Restlessness Of Passion Meets In Me A Craving After Knowledge: The Sole Proof Of A Commanding Will Is In That Power Repressed; For I Beheld It In Its Dawn, That Sleepless Harpy, With Its Budding Wings, And I Considered Whether I Should Yield All Hopes And Fears, To Live Alone With It, Finding A Recompense In Its Wild Eyes; And When I Found That I Should Perish So, I Bade Its Wild Eyes Close From Me For Ever; And I Am Left Alone With My Delights, So It Lies In Me A Chained Thing Still Ready To Serve Me, If I Loose Its Slightest Bond I Cannot But Be Proud Of My Bright Slave. And Thus I Know This Earth Is Not My Sphere, For I Cannot So Narrow Me, But That I Still Exceed It; In Their Elements My Love Would Pass My Reason But Since Here Love Must Receive Its Object From This Earth, While Reason Will Be Chainless, The Few Truths Caught From Its Wanderings Have Sufficed To Quell All Love Below; Then What Must Be That Love Which, With The Object It Demands, Would Quell Reason, Tho' It Soared With The Seraphim? No What I Feel May Pass All Human Love, Yet Fall Far Short Of What My Love Should Be; And Yet I Seem More Warped In This Than Aught For Here Myself Stands Out More Hideously. I Can Forget Myself In Friendship, Fame, Or Liberty, Or Love Of Mighty Souls. . . . . . But I Begin To Know What Thing Hate Is To Sicken, And To Quiver, And Grow White, And I Myself Have Furnished Its First Prey. All My Sad Weaknesses, This Wavering Will, This Selfishness, This Still Decaying Frame . . . But I Must Never Grieve While I Can Pass Far From Such Thoughts As Now Andromeda! And She Is With Me Years Roll, I Shall Change, But Change Can Touch Her Not So Beautiful With Her Dark Eyes, Earnest And Still, And Hair Lifted And Spread By The Salt-Sweeping Breeze; And One Red-Beam, All The Storm Leaves In Heaven, Resting Upon Her Eyes And Face And Hair, As She Awaits The Snake On The Wet Beach, By The Dark Rock, And The White Wave Just Breaking At Her Feet; Quite Naked And Alone, A Thing You Doubt Not, Nor Fear For, Secure That God Will Come In Thunder From The Stars To Save Her. Let It Pass I Will Call Another Change. I Will Be Gifted With A Wond'Rous Soul, Yet Sunk By Error To Men'S Sympathy, And In The Wane Of Life; Yet Only So As To Call Up Their Fears, And There Shall Come A Time Requiring Youth'S Best Energies; And Straight I Fling Age, Sorrow, Sickness Off, And I Rise Triumphing Over My Decay. . . . . . And Thus It Is That I Supply The Chasm 'Twixt What I Am And All That I Would Be. But Then To Know Nothing To Hope For Nothing To Seize On Life'S Dull Joys From A Strange Tear, Lest, Being Them, All'S Lost, And Nought Remains . . . . . There'S Some Vile Juggle With My Reason Here I Feel I But Explain To My Own Loss These Impulses They Live No Less The Same. Liberty! What Though I Despair My Blood Rose Not At A Slave'S Name Proudlier Than Now, And Sympathy Obscured By Sophistries. Why Have Not I Sought Refuge In Myself, But For The Woes I Saw And Could Not Stay And Love! Do I Not Love Thee, My Pauline? . . . . . I Cherish Prejudice, Lest I Be Left Utterly Loveless Witness This Belief In Poets, Tho' Sad Change Has Come There Too; No More I Leave Myself To Follow Them: Unconsciously I Measure Me By Them. Let Me Forget It; And I Cherish Most My Love Of England How Her Name A Word Of Her'S In A Strange Tongue Makes My Heart Beat! . . . . . . . . Pauline, I Could Do Any Thing Not Now All'S Fever But When Calm Shall Come Again I Am Prepared I Have Made Life My Own I Would Not Be Content With All The Change One Frame Should Feel But I Have Gone In Thought Thro' All Conjuncture I Have Lived All Life When It Is Most Alive Where Strangest Fate New Shapes It Past Surmise The Tales Of Men Bit By Some Curse Or In The Grasp Of Doom Half-Visible And Still Increasing Round, Or Crowning Their Wide Being'S General Aim. . . . . . . . . These Are Wild Fancies, But I Feel, Sweet Friend, As One Breathing His Weakness To The Ear Of Pitying Angel Dear As A Winter Flower. A Slight Flower Growing Alone, And Offering Its Frail Cup Of Three Leaves To The Cold Sun, Yet And Confiding, Like The Triumph Of A Child And Why Am I Not Worthy Thee? . . . . . I Can Live All The Life Of Plants, And Gaze Drowsily On The Bees That Flit And Play, Or Bare My Breast For Sunbeams Which Will Kill, Or Open In The Night Of Sounds, To Look For The Dim Stars; I Can Mount With The Bird, Leaping Airily His Pyramid Of Leaves And Twisted Boughs Of Some Tall Mountain Tree, Or Rise Cheerfully Springing To The Heavens Or Like A Fish Breathe In The Morning Air In The Misty Sun-Warm Water Or With Flowers And Trees Can Smile In Light At The Sinking Sun, Just As The Storm Comes As A Girl Would Look On A Departing Lover Most Serene. Pauline, Come With Me See How I Could Build A Home For Us, Out Of The World; In Thought I Am Inspired Come With Me, Pauline! Night, And One Single Ridge Of Narrow Path Between The Sullen River And The Woods Waving And Muttering For The Moonless Night Has Shaped Them Into Images Of Life, Like The Upraising Of The Giant-Ghosts, Looking On Earth To Know How Their Sons Fare. Thou Art So Close By Me, The Roughest Swell Of Wind In The Tree-Tops Hides Not The Panting Of Thy Soft Breasts; No We Will Pass To Morning Morning The Rocks, And Vallies, And Old Woods. How The Sun Brightens In The Mist, And Here, Half In The Air, Like Creatures Of The Place, Trusting The Element Living On High Boughs That Swing In The Wind Look At The Golden Spray, Flung From The Foam-Sheet Of The Cataract, Amid The Broken Rocks Shall We Stay Here With The Wild Hawks? No, Ere The Hot Noon Come Dive We Down Safe; See This Our New Retreat Walled In With A Sloped Mound Of Matted Shrubs, Dark, Tangled, Old And Green Still Sloping Down To A Small Pool Whose Waters Lie Asleep Amid The Trailing Boughs Turned Water Plants And Tall Trees Over-Arch To Keep Us In, Breaking The Sunbeams Into Emerald