Yes, proof was plain that since the day On which the Traveller thus had died The Dog had watch'd about the spot, 60 Or by his Master's side: How nourish'd here through such long time He knows, who gave that love sublime, And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate. _SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT_ * * * * * She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the chearful Dawn; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and way-lay. 10 I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 20 And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A Being breathing thoughtful breath; A Traveller betwixt life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength and skill; A perfect Woman; nobly plann'd, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light. 30 _The REDBREAST and the BUTTERFLY_. Art thou the Bird whom Man loves best, The pious Bird with the scarlet breast, Our little English Robin; The Bird that comes about our doors When Autumn winds are sobbing? Art thou the Peter of Norway Boors? Their Thomas in Finland, And Russia far inland? The Bird, whom by some name or other All men who know thee call their Brother, 10 The Darling of Children and men? Could Father Adam open his eyes, And see this sight beneath the skies, He'd wish to close them again. If the Butterfly knew but his friend Hither his flight he would bend, And find his way to me Under the branches of the tree: In and out, he darts about; His little heart is throbbing: 20 Can this be the Bird, to man so good, Our consecrated Robin! That, after their bewildering, Did cover with leaves the little children, So painfully in the wood? What ail'd thee Robin that thou could'st pursue A beautiful Creature, That is gentle by nature? Beneath the summer sky From flower to flower let him fly; 30 'Tis all that he wishes to do.