“Ah!” you say; “the large appearance Of man’s labor is but vain, And we plead as stanch adherence Due to pleasure as to pain.” Pointing to earth’s careworn creatures, “Come,” you murmur with a sigh: “Ah! we own diviner features, Loftier bearing, and a prouder eye. “Come,” you say, “the hours were dreary; Life without love does not fade; Vain it wastes, and we grew weary In the slumbrous cedarn shade. Round our hearts with long caresses, With low sighings, Silence stole, And her load of steaming tresses Weighed, like Ossa, on the aery soul. “Come,” you say, “the soul is fainting Till she search and learn her own, And the wisdom of man’s painting Leaves her riddle half unknown. Come,” you say, “the brain is seeking, While the princely heart is dead; Yet this gleaned, when gods were speaking, Rarer secrets than the toiling head. “Come,” you say, “opinion trembles, Judgment shifts, convictions go; Life dries up, the heart dissembles: Only, what we feel, we know. Hath your wisdom known emotions? Will it weep our burning tears? Hath it drunk of our love-potions Crowning moments with the weight of years?” I am dumb. Alas! too soon all Man’s grave reasons disappear! Yet, I think, at God’s tribunal Some large answer you shall hear. But for me, my thoughts are straying Where at sunrise, through your vines, On these lawns I saw you playing, Hanging garlands on your odorous pines; When your showering locks inwound you, And your heavenly eyes shone through; When the pine-boughs yielded round you, And your brows were starred with dew; And immortal forms, to meet you, Down the statued alleys came, And through golden horns, to greet you, Blew such music as a god may frame. Yes, I muse! And if the dawning Into daylight never grew, If the glistering wings of morning On the dry noon shook their dew, If the fits of joy were longer, Or the day were sooner done, Or, perhaps, if hope were stronger, No weak nursling of an earthly sun ... Pluck, pluck cypress, O pale maidens, Dusk the hall with yew! * * * * * For a bound was set to meetings, And the sombre day dragged on; And the burst of joyful greetings, And the joyful dawn, were gone. For the eye grows filled with gazing, And on raptures follow calms; And those warm locks men were praising Drooped, unbraided, on your listless arms.