In _each_ lay poesy--for Woman's heart Nurses the stream, unsought, and oft unseen; And if it flow not through the tide of art, Nor woo the glittering daylight--you may ween It slumbers, but not ceases; and, if check'd The egress of rich words, it flows in thought, And in its silent mirror doth reflect Whate'er Affection to its banks has brought. This makes her love so glowing and so tender, Dyeing it in such deep and dreamlike hues; Earth--Heaven--creative Genius--all that render, In man, their wealth and homage to the muse; Do but, in _her_, enrich the heart, and throng To centre there what men disperse in song. O treasure! which awhile the world outweighs That blessed human heart Youth calls its own! Measure the space some envied Caesar sways With that which stretches from the heavenly throne Into the Infinite;--and then compare All after-conquests in the dim and dull Bounds of the Real, with the realms that were Youth's, when its reign was o'er the Beautiful! He who loves nobly and is nobly loved Is lord of the Ideal. Could it last! It doth--it doth! lasts mournful but unmoved, In the still Ghost-land that reflects the Past. Age will forget its wintry yesterday, But not one sunbeam that rejoiced its May; Showing, perchance, that all which we resume Of this hard life, beyond the Funeral River, Are the fair blossoms of the age of bloom; And hearts mourn most the things that live for ever. VI. Twice glided through her course the wandering Queen Who rules the stars and deeps, since first they met. 'Tis eve once more, that earliest hour, serene With the last light, before the sun hath set; And Zoe waits her lover on the hill, Waits, looking forth afar:--The parting ray Of the reluctant Day-god linger'd still; Aslant it glinted through the pinewood boughs, Broadly to rest upon the ruins grey, That at her feet in desolate glory lay. Through chasm and chink, the myrtle's glossy green, Votive of old to Cytheraea's brows-- Rose over wrecks, and smiled: And there, like Grief Close-neighbouring Love, the aloe forced between Myrtle with myrtle clasp'd--its barbed leaf. Where Zoe stands, the Caesar's Palace stood, And from that lofty terrace ye survey, Naked within their thunder-riven tomb, The bones of that dead Titaness call'd Rome. Beyond, the Tiber, through the Latian Plain With many a lesser sepulchre bestrew'd, Mourn'd songless onward to the Tyrrhene main; Around, in amphitheatre afar The hills lay basking in the purple sky; Till all grew grey, and Maro's shepherd-star Look'd through the silence with a loving eye. And soft from silver clouds stole forth the Moon, Hush'd as if still she watch'd Endymion. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * VII.