She knows the tops of jagged mountain-peaks, She knows the green soft hollows of their sides, And unafraid she floats O'er the vast-circled seas. She loves to bask within the moon's wan beams, Lying, night-long upon the moist, dark earth, And leave her seeded pearls With morning on the grass. Ah! that athwart these dim, gray outer courts Of her fantastic palace I might pass, And reach the inmost shrine Of her chaste solitude, And feel her cool and dewy fingers press My mortal-fevered brow, while in my heart She poured with tender love Her healing Lethe-balm! See! the close curtain moves, the spell dissolves! Slowly it lifts: the dazzling sunshine streams Upon a newborn world And laughing summer seas. Swift, snowy-breasted sandbirds twittering glance Through crystal air. On the horizon's marge, Like a huge purple wraith, The dusky fog retreats. THE ELIXIR. "Oh brew me a potion strong and good! One golden drop in his wine Shall charm his sense and fire his blood, And bend his will to mine." Poor child of passion! ask of me Elixir of death or sleep, Or Lethe's stream; but love is free, And woman must wait and weep. SONG. Venus. Frosty lies the winter-landscape, In the twilight golden-green. Down the Park's deserted alleys, Naked elms stand stark and lean. Dumb the murmur of the fountain, Birds have flown from lawn and hill. But while yonder star's ascendant, Love triumphal reigneth still. See the keen flame throb and tremble, Brightening in the darkening night, Breathing like a thing of passion, In the sky's smooth chrysolite. Not beneath the moon, oh lover, Thou shalt gain thy heart's desire. Speak to-night! The gods are with thee Burning with a kindred fire. SPRING LONGING. What art thou doing here, O Imagination? Go away I entreat thee by the gods, as thou didst come, for I want thee not. But thou art come according to thy old fashion. I am not angry with thee--only go away. --Marcus Antoninus Lilac hazes veil the skies. Languid sighs Breathes the mild, caressing air. Pink as coral's branching sprays, Orchard ways With the blossomed peach are fair. Sunshine, cordial as a kiss, Poureth bliss In this craving soul of mine, And my heart her flower-cup Lifteth up, Thirsting for the draught divine.