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Or her, who knew that Love can vanquish Death,
Who kneeling, with one arm about her king, Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath,
Sweet as new buds in Spring.
No memory labours longer from the deep
Gold-mines of thought to lift the hidden ore That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep
To gather and tell o'er
Each little sound and sight. With what dull pain
Compass’d, how eagerly I sought to strike Into that wondrous track of dreams again!
But no two dreams are like.
As when a soul laments, which hath been blest,
Desiring what is mingled with past years, In yearnings that can never be exprest
By signs or groans or tears;
Because all words, though cull’d with choicest art,
Failing to give the bitter of the sweet, Wither beneath the palate, and the heart
Faints, faded by its heat.
O SWEET pale Margaret,
power, Like moonlight on a falling shower? Who lent you, love, your mortal dower
Of pensive thought and aspect pale,
Your melancholy sweet and frail As perfume of the cuckoo-flower ? From the westward-winding flood, From the evening-lighted wood,
From all things outward you have won A tearful grace, as though you stood
Between the rainbow and the sun.
The very smile before you speak,
Encircles all the heart, and feedeth
Of dainty sorrow without sound,
Like the tender amber round, Which the moon about her spreadeth, Moving thro' a fleecy night.
You love, remaining peacefully,
To hear the murmur of the strife,
But enter not the toil of life.
Your spirit is the calmed sea,
Laid by the tumult of the fight. You are the evening star, alway
Remaining betwixt dark and bright: Lull’d echoes of laborious day
Come to you, gleams of mellow light
What can it matter, Margaret,
below the waning stars
The lion-heart, Plantagenet,
Sang looking thro' his prison bars ?
Exquisite Margaret, who can tell
Just ere the falling axe did part
Even in her sight he loved so well?
A fairy shield your Genius made
And gave you on your natal day. Your sorrow, only sorrow's shade,
Keeps real sorrow far away. You move not in such solitudes,
You are not less divine, But more human in
moods, Than your twin-sister, Adeline. Your hair is darker, and your eyes
Touch'd with a somewhat darker hue,
But ever trembling thro' the dew