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, In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite, 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 As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, In thee all passion becomes passionless, 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 Shadow forth the banks at will; Or sometimes they swell and move, 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, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, 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, |