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Upon the upturned faces of a thousand
Clad all in white, upon a violet bank
Was it not Fate that, on this July midnight -
And in an instant all things disappeared.
But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me—they lead me through the years. They are my ministers-yet I their slave. Their office is to illumine and enkindleMy duty, to be saved by their bright light, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire. They fill my soul with beauty (which is hope), And are far up in heaven—the stars I kneel to In the sad silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still —two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun !
TO MY MOTHER.*
BECAUSE I feel that in the heavens above
The angels, whispering to one another, Can find among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “mother," Therefore by that dear name I long have called you
You, who are more than mother unto me,
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
Was but the mother of myself; but you
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
* Addressed to a lady who well deserved that name from Poe- MARIA CLEMM, his mother-in-law. See Willis's Hurry Graphs. – ED.