"As he would pass, when to his failing sight Their forms stand in a vision heavenly bright; And piercing through his drowsed ears Enters their tuneful cry Of summons, audibly, Thither where flow no mourners' tears: So, dearest Love, my spirit, sore oppressed, Would weeping in thy bosom sink to rest." Her window now is darkness, save the sheen Glazed on it by the moon. Within she lies Her supple shape relaxed, in dreamful rest, And folds contentment babelike to her breast, Whose beauteous heaving, even and serene, Beats mortal time to heavenly lullabies. V. WILD ROSE. To call My Lady where she stood "A Wild-rose blossom of the wood," Makes but a poor similitude. For who by such a sleight would reach An aim, consumes the worth in speech, And sets a crimson rose to bleach. My Love, whose store of household sense Gives duty golden recompense, And arms her goodness with defence: The sweet reliance of whose gaze Originates in gracious ways, And wins the trust that trust repays: Whose stately figure's varying grace Is never seen unless her face Turn beaming toward another place; For such a halo round it glows Surprised attention only knows A lively wonder in repose. Can flowers that breathe one little day In odorous sweetness life away, And wavering to the earth decay, Have any claim to rank with her, Warmed in whose soul impulses stir, Then bloom to goodness, and aver Her worth through spheral joys shall move When suns and systems cease above, And nothing lives but perfect Love? VI. MY LADY'S GLORY. Strong in the regal strength of love, Enthroned by native worth Her sway is held on earth: Whose soul looks downward from above Exalted stars, whose power Brightens the brightest flower. Her beauty walks in happier grace Than lightly moving fawns O'er old elm-shadowed lawns. A tenderness shows through her face, And like the morning's glow, Hints a full day below. When site looks wide around the skies On the sun's dazzling track, And when shines softly back Its glory to her open eyes, She fills our hearts and sight With wonder and delight. And when tired thought my sense benumbs, Or when past shadows roll Their memories on my soul, Oft breaking through the darkness comes A solace and surprise, Her wonder-lighted eyes. How grand and beautiful the love She silently conceals, Nor save in act reveals! She broods o'er kindness; as a dove Sits musing in the nest Of the life beneath her breast. The ready freshness that was known In man's authentic prime, The earliest breath of time, Throughout her household ways is shown; Mild greatness subtly wrought With quaint and childlike thought. She sits to music: fingers fall, Air shakes; her lifted voice Makes flattered hope rejoice, And shivering through Time's phantom pall, Its wavering rents display Dim splendour, far away;