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Go not, happy day,

From the shining fields,
Go not, happy day,

Till the maiden yields. to bio.
Rosy is the West, and to manb
Rosy is the South,

Roses are her cheeks,

And a rose her mouth.

When the happy Yes

Falters from her lips,
Pass and blush the news

O'er the blowing ships; 14

Over blowing seas,

Over seas at rest,

Pass the happy news,

Blush it thro' the West;

Till the red man dance

By his red cedar-tree, ode HDM

And the red man's babe

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Blush from West to East,

Blush from East to West,

Till the West is East,

Blush it thro' the West.

Rosy is the West,

Rosy is the South,

Roses are her cheeks,

And a rose her mouth.

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XVIII

I have led her home, my love, my

There is none like her, none.

my only friend.

And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on

Calming itself to the long-wish'd-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.

Maud

None like her, none.

Just now the dry-tongued laurels' pattering talk
Seem'd her light foot along the garden walk,
And shook my heart to think she comes once
and bes oess

more;

But even then I heard her close the door, ba
The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is

gone.

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There is none like her, none.

Nor will be when our summers have deceased.
O, art thou sighing for Lebanon

In the long breeze that streams to thy delicious
East,

Sighing for Lebanon,

Dark cedar, tho' thy limbs have here increased,

Upon a pastoral slope as fair,

And looking to the South, and fed mon

With honey'd rain and delicate air,

Maud And haunted by the starry head

Of her whose gentle will has changed my fate,
And made my life a perfumed altar-flame;

And over whom thy darkness must have spread
With such
Forefather delight as theirs of old,
of old, thy great
of the thornless garden, there

Shadowing the snow-limb'd Eve from whom

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Here will I lie, while these long branches sway,
And you fair stars that crown a happy day
Go in and out as if at merry play,

Who am no more so all forlorn,

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As when it seem'd far better to be born

To labour and the mattock-harden'd hand, bal
Than nursed at ease and brought to understand
A sad astrology, the boundless planet as all
That makes you tyrants in your iron skies,
Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes,

Cold fires, yet with power to burn and brand
His nothingness into man.

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But now shine on, and what care I,
Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl
The countercharm of space and hollow sky,
And do accept my madness, and would die
To save from some slight shame one simple girl.
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Would die; for sullen-seeming Death may give
More life to Love than is or ever was

In our low world, where yet 'tis sweet to live.
Let no one ask me how it came to pass;

It seems that I am happy, that to me
A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,
purer sapphire melts into the sea.

A

Maud

Not die; but live a life of truest breath,
And teach true life to fight with mortal wrongs.
O, why should Love, like men in drinking-songs,
Spice his fair banquet with the dust of death?
Maud my bliss,

Make answer,

Maud made my Maud by that long lover's kiss,
Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this?
The dusky strand of Death inwoven here
With dear Love's tie, makes Love himself
more dear.'

8

Is that enchanted moan only the swell
Of the long waves that roll in yonder bay?
And hark the clock within, the silver knell
Of twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white,
And died to live, long as my pulses play;
But now by this my love has closed her sight
And given false death her hand, and stol'n away
To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell
Among the fragments of the golden day.

C

Maud May nothing there her maiden grace affright!
Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy spell.
My bride to be, my evermore delight,

My own heart's heart, my ownest own, farewell;
It is but for a little space I go:

And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell
Beat to the noiseless music of the night!
Has our whole earth gone nearer to the glow
Of your soft splendours that you look so bright?
I have climb'd nearer out of lonely Hell.
Beat, happy stars, timing with things below,
Beat with my heart more blest than heart can tell,
Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe
That seems to draw-but it shall not be so:
Let all be well, be well.

XIX

Her brother is coming back to-night,
Breaking up my dream of delight.

My dream? do I dream of bliss?
I have walk'd awake with Truth.
O when did a morning shine
So rich in atonement as this
For my dark-dawning youth,

Darken'd watching a mother decline

And that dead man at her heart and mine:
For who was left to watch her but I?

Yet so did I let my freshness die.

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