The wind that's good for neither man nor beast Weeks long incessant from the blighting East Drove gloom and havoc through the land and ceased. When swaying mildly over wide Atlantic seas, Bland and dewy soft streamed the Western breeze. In walking forth, I felt with vague alarm, Closer than wont her pressure on my arm, As through morn's fragrant air we sought what harm That Eastern wind's despite had done the garden growth; Where much lay dead or languished low for drouth. Her own parterre was bounded by a red Old buttressed wall of brick, moss-broidered; Where grew mid pink and azure plots a bed Of shining lilies intermixed in wondrous light; She called them "Radiant spirits robed in white." Here the mad gale had rioted and thrown Far drifts of snowy petals, fiercely blown The stalks in twisted heaps: one flower alone Yet hung and lit the waste, the latest blossom born Among its fallen kinsmen left forlorn. "Thy pallid droop," cried I, "but more than all, Thy lonely sweetness takes my soul in thrall, O Seraph Lily Blanch! so stately tall: By violets adored, regarded by the rose, Well loved by every gentle flower that blows!" My Lady dovelike to the lily went, Took in curved palms a cup, and forward leant, Deep draining to the gold its dreamy scent. I see her now, pale beauty, as she bending stands, The wind-worn blossom resting in her hands! Then slowly rising, she in gazing trance Affrayed, long pored on vacancy. A glance Of chilly splendour tinged her countenance And told the saddened truth, that stress of blighting weather, Had made her lilies and My Lady droop together. IX. TOLLING BELL. "Weak, but her spirits good," the letter said: A bell was tolling, while these words I read, A dull sepulchral summons for the dead. Fear grew in every pace I strode Hurrying on that endless road. And when I reached the house a terror came That wrought in me a hidden sense of blame, And entering I scarce dared to speak her name, Who lay, sweet singer, warbling low Rhymes I made her long ago. "The sun exhales the morning dew, The dew returns again At eve refreshing rain: The forest flowers bloom bravely new, They drooping fade and die, The seeds that in them lie Will blossom as the others blew." "And ever rove among the flowers Bright children who ere long Are men and women strong: When on they pass through sun and showers, And glancing sideways watch Their children run to catch A rainbow with the laughing Hours." I watched in awkward wonder for a time As there she listless lay and sang my rhyme, Wrapped up in fabrics of an Indian clime She seemed a Bird of Paradise Languid from the traversed skies. A dawn-bright snowy peak her smile . . . Strange I Should dawdle near her grace admiringly, When love alarmed and challenged sympathy, Announced in chills of creeping fear Danger surely threatening near.