But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees 50 Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained: They would not go--they never yet have gone; Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, They have not left me (as my hopes have) since; They follow me--they lead me through the years; 55 They are my ministers--yet I their slave; Their office is to illumine and enkindle-- My duty, to be saved by their bright light, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire, 60 They fill my soul with beauty (which is hope), And are, far up in heaven, the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still--two sweetly scintillant 65 Venuses, unextinguished by the sun. A VALENTINE For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes, Brightly expressive as the twins of Leda, Shall find her own sweet name, that nestling lies Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader. Search narrowly the lines! they hold a treasure 5 Divine, a talisman, an amulet That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure-- The word--the syllables. Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor: And yet there is in this no Gordian knot 10 Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely comprehend the plot. Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering Eyes scintillating soul, there lie _perdus_ Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing 15 Of poets, by poets--as the name is a poet's, too. Its letters, although naturally lying Like the knight Pinto, Mendez Ferdinando, Still form a synonym for Truth.--Cease trying! You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do. 20 FOR ANNIE Thank Heaven! the crisis, The danger, is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last, And the fever called "Living" 5 Is conquered at last. Sadly I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length: 10 But no matter!--I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly Now, in my bed, That any beholder 15 Might fancy me dead, Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, 20 Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart:--ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness, the nausea, 25 The pitiless pain, Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain, With the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain. 30