My heart swells high with scorn and hate At social fictions, narrow laws By which the few maintain their state, And build us out with golden bars: 'She wears a careless smile,' I said, 'And regal jewels on her brow; Those queenly lips, ere now, have made Rare mockery of her broken vow. 'And what was I,--to touch that heart? Only a poet, made to pour Love's silver phrase with subtle art In tides of music at her door. What though she bore a brightened blush, As if the echo linger'd long? Even so she listens to the thrush That thrills the air with eddying song. 'How sweet, on summer-scented morns, To hear through all our lingering walk, As soft as dew on fragrant lawns, The wandering music of her talk! Ah! dreaming heart, that asked no more When dower'd with that o'erflowing smile: Ah! foolish heart, to linger o'er The memories that can still beguile.' I paused. On distant breezes borne, A silken stir floats slowly by, And from the clouds a silver dawn Breaks through the vapor-shrouded sky; The cloister'd walk is paved with light, And bathed in crystal beams she stands: No jewels crown her presence bright, A single rose is in her hands. 'Oh! fair white rose,' she softly said, 'Make peace between my love and me; Lest from my life the colors fade, And leave me faint and pale like thee: Tell him that dearer is the flower Once honored by his poet hand, Than ermined rank, and princely power, With any noble in the land.' * * * * * Then soft as rose-leaf on my brow A sudden kiss comes floating down, On wings as light as angels know, And crowns me with a kingly crown. And banish'd by a touch divine, Fled all the memories of pain; I clasped the pleading hands in mine, And told her all my love again. The pale mist like an incense cloud From some great altar drifts away, In silvery fullness o'er us flows The glory of a pallid day. Amid the opening buds of hope I smile at half-forgotten fears; For love, I said, grows holier still And purer through baptismal tears. 'IS THERE ANYTHING IN IT? 'A true bill.'-SHAKSPEARE.