And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear, She says all things that I wish to hear. Dusky and duskier grows the room, Yet I see her best in the darker gloom. When the winter eves are early and cold, The firelight hours are a dream of gold. And so I sit here night by night, In rest and enjoyment of love’s delight. But a knock at the door, a step on the stair Will startle, alas, my love from her chair. If a stranger comes she will not stay: At the first alarm she is off and away. And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne, That I sit so much by myself alone. 12 Who has not walked upon the shore, And who does not the morning know, The day the angry gale is o’er, The hour the wind has ceased to blow? The horses of the strong south-west Are pastured round his tropic tent, Careless how long the ocean’s breast Sob on and sigh for passion spent. The frightened birds, that fled inland To house in rock and tower and tree, Are gathering on the peaceful strand, To tempt again the sunny sea; Whereon the timid ships steal out And laugh to find their foe asleep, That lately scattered them about, And drave them to the fold like sheep. The snow-white clouds he northward chased Break into phalanx, line, and band: All one way to the south they haste, The south, their pleasant fatherland. From distant hills their shadows creep, Arrive in turn and mount the lea, And flit across the downs, and leap Sheer off the cliff upon the sea; And sail and sail far out of sight. But still I watch their fleecy trains, That piling all the south with light, Dapple in France the fertile plains. 13 I made another song, In likeness of my love: And sang it all day long, Around, beneath, above; I told my secret out, That none might be in doubt. I sang it to the sky, That veiled his face to hear How far her azure eye Outdoes his splendid sphere; But at her eyelids’ name His white clouds fled for shame. I told it to the trees, And to the flowers confest, And said not one of these Is like my lily drest; Nor spathe nor petal dared Vie with her body bared. I shouted to the sea, That set his waves a-prance; Her floating hair is free, Free are her feet to dance; And for thy wrath, I swear Her frown is more to fear. And as in happy mood I walked and sang alone, At eve beside the wood I met my love, my own: And sang to her the song I had sung all day long. 14 ELEGY ON A LADY, WHOM GRIEF FOR THE DEATH OF HER BETROTHED KILLED