And the steady sunset glow,

That stays upon thee? For in thee

Is nothing sudden, nothing single; Like two streams of incense free

From one censer, in one shrine,

Thought and motion mingle,

To one another, even as tho'

They were modulated so

To an unheard melody,

Which lives about thee, and a sweep

Of richest pauses, evermore

Drawn from each other mellow-deep; Who may express thee, Eleanore?

I stand before thee, Eleänore;

I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while

Slowly, as from a cloud of gold, Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile.

I muse, as in a trance, whene'er

The languors of thy love-deep eyes

Float on to me.

I would I were

So tranced, so rapt in ecstacies,

To stand apart, and to adore,

Gazing on thee for evermore,

Serene, imperial Eleanore!

Sometimes, with most intensity

Gazing, I seem to see

Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep,
Slowly awaken'd, grow so full and deep

In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite,
I cannot veil, or droop my sight,

But am as nothing in its light:

As though a star, in inmost heaven set,

Ev'n while we gaze on it,

Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow

To a full face, there like a sun remain

Fix'd then as slowly fade again,

And draw itself to what it was before;

So full, so deep, so slow,

Thought seems to come and go
In thy large eyes, imperial Eleänore.

As thunder-clouds that, hung on high,
Roof'd the world with doubt and fear,
Floating thro' an evening atmosphere,
Grow golden all about the sky;

In thee all passion becomes passionless,
Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness,

Losing his fire and active might

In a silent meditation,

Falling into a still delight,

And luxury of contemplation:

As waves that up a quiet cove
Rolling slide, and lying still

Shadow forth the banks at will;

Or sometimes they swell and move,
Pressing up against the land,

With motions of the outer sea:

And the self-same influence

Controlleth all the soul and sense

Of Passion gazing upon thee.

His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love,
Leaning his cheek upon his hand,

Droops both his wings, regarding thee,
And so would languish evermore,
Serene, imperial Eleanore.

But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined,

While the amorous, odorous wind

Breathes low between the sunset and the moon;

Or, in a shadowy saloon,

On silken cushions half reclined;

I watch thy grace; and in its place

My heart a charmed slumber keeps,

While I muse upon thy face;

And a languid fire creeps

Thro' my

veins to all my frame,

Dissolvingly and slowly soon

From thy rose-red lips My name

Floweth; and then, as in a swoon,

With dinning sound my ears are rife,

My tremulous tongue faltereth,

I lose my colour, I lose my

breath,

I drink the cup of a costly death,

Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life.

I die with my delight, before

I hear what I would hear from thee;

Yet tell my name again to me,

I would be dying evermore,

So dying ever, Eleanore.