From earth. I thought it was an adder's fold, And once I strove to disengage myself, But fail'd, I was so feeble. She was there too: She bent above me too: her cheek was pale, Oh! very fair and pale: rare pity had stolen The living bloom away, as tho' a red rose Should change into a white one suddenly. Her eyes, I saw, were full of tears in the morn, And some few drops of that distressful rain Being wafted on the wind, drove in my sight, And being there they did break forth afresh In a new birth, immingled with my own, And still bewept my grief. Keeping unchanged The purport of their coinage. Her long ringlets, Drooping and beaten with the plaining wind, Did brush my forehead in their to-and-fro: For in the sudden anguish of her heart Loosed from their simple thrall they had flowed abroad, And onward floating in a full, dark wave, Parted on either side her argent neck, Mantling her form half way. She, when I woke, After my refluent health made tender quest Unanswer'd, for I spoke not: for the sound Of that dear voice so musically low, And now first heard with any sense of pain, As it had taken life away before, Choked all the syllables that in my throat Strove to uprise, laden with mournful thanks, From my full heart: and ever since that hour, My voice hath somewhat falter'd--and what wonder That when hope died, part of her eloquence Died with her? He, the blissful lover, too, From his great hoard of happiness distill'd Some drops of solace; like a vain rich man, That, having always prosper'd in the world, Folding his hands deals comfortable words To hearts wounded for ever; yet, in truth, Fair speech was his and delicate of phrase, Falling in whispers on the sense, address'd More to the inward than the outward ear, As rain of the midsummer midnight soft Scarce-heard, recalling fragrance and the green Of the dead spring--such as in other minds Had film'd the margents of the recent wound. And why was I to darken their pure love, If, as I knew, they two did love each other, Because my own was darken'd? Why was I To stand within the level of their hopes, Because my hope was widow'd, like the cur In the child's adage? Did I love Camilla? Ye know that I did love her: to this present My full-orb'd love hath waned not. Did I love her, And could I look upon her tearful eyes? Tears wept for me; for me--weep at my grief? What had _she_ done to weep--let my heart Break rather--whom the gentlest airs of heaven Should kiss with an unwonted gentleness. Her love did murder mine; what then? she deem'd I wore a brother's mind: she call'd me brother: She told me all her love: she shall not weep.