“O eyes long laid in happy sleep!” “O happy sleep, that lightly fled!” “O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!” “O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!” And o’er them many a flowing range Of vapour buoy’d the crescent-bark, And, rapt thro’ many a rosy change, The twilight died into the dark. 4 “A hundred summers! can it be? And whither goest thou, tell me where?” “O seek my father’s court with me! For there are greater wonders there.” And o’er the hills, and far away Beyond their utmost purple rim, Beyond the night across the day, Thro’ all the world she follow’d him. Moral (No alteration since 1842.) 1 So, Lady Flora, take my lay, And if you find no moral there, Go, look in any glass and say, What moral is in being fair. Oh, to what uses shall we put The wildweed-flower that simply blows? And is there any moral shut Within the bosom of the rose? 2 But any man that walks the mead, In bud or blade, or bloom, may find, According as his humours lead, A meaning suited to his mind. And liberal applications lie In Art like Nature, dearest friend;[1] So ’twere to cramp its use, if I Should hook it to some useful end. [1] So Wordsworth:— O Reader! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can bring, O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything. —_Simon Lee_. L’Envoi (No alteration since 1843 except in numbering the stanzas.) 1 You shake your head. A random string Your finer female sense offends. Well—were it not a pleasant thing To fall asleep with all one’s friends; To pass with all our social ties To silence from the paths of men; And every hundred years to rise And learn the world, and sleep again; To sleep thro’ terms of mighty wars, And wake on science grown to more, On secrets of the brain, the stars, As wild as aught of fairy lore; And all that else the years will show, The Poet-forms of stronger hours, The vast Republics that may grow, The Federations and the Powers; Titanic forces taking birth In divers seasons, divers climes; For we are Ancients of the earth, And in the morning of the times. 2 So sleeping, so aroused from sleep Thro’ sunny decads new and strange, Or gay quinquenniads would we reap The flower and quintessence of change. 3 Ah, yet would I—and would I might! So much your eyes my fancy take— Be still the first to leap to light That I might kiss those eyes awake! For, am I right or am I wrong, To choose your own you did not care; You’d have _my_ moral from the song, And I will take my pleasure there: And, am I right or am I wrong, My fancy, ranging thro’ and thro’, To search a meaning for the song, Perforce will still revert to you; Nor finds a closer truth than this All-graceful head, so richly curl’d, And evermore a costly kiss The prelude to some brighter world. 4