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LONG have I sigh'd for a calm : God grant I may

Ι find it at last !

It will never be broken by Maud, she has neither

savour nor salt,

But a cold and clear-cut face, as I found when her


carriage past, Perfectly beautiful: let it be granted her: where

is the fault?

All that I saw (for her eyes were downcast, not to

be seen) Faultily faultless,

faultless, icily regular, splendidly

null, Dead perfection, no more ; nothing more, if it had For a chance of travel, a paleness, an hour's defect

not been

of the rose,

Or an underlip, you may call it a little too ripe,

too full, Or the least little delicate aquiline curve in a

sensitive nose,

From which I escaped heart-free, with the least

little touch of spleen.


COLD and clear-cut face, why come you so cruelly

meek, Breaking a slumber in which all spleenful folly was

drown'd, Pale with the golden beam of an eyelash dead on

the cheek, Passionless, pale, cold face, star-sweet on a gloom

profound; Womanlike, taking revenge too deep for a transient


wrong Done but in thought to your beauty, and ever as

pale as before

Growing and fading and growing upon me without Luminous, gemlike, ghostlike, deathlike, half the

a sound,

night long Growing and fading and growing, till I could bear

it no more,

But arose, and all by myself in my own dark

garden ground,

Listening now to the tide in its broad-flung ship

wrecking roar, Now to the scream of a madden'd beach dragg’d

down by the wave, Walk'd in a wintry wind by a ghastly glimmer,

and found

The shining daffodil dead, and Orion low in his




A MILLION emeralds break from the ruby-budded


In the little grove where I sit--ab, wherefore

cannot I be

Like things of the season gay, like the bountiful

season bland,

When the far-off sail is blown by the breeze of a

softer clime,

Half-lost in the liquid azure bloom of a crescent

of sea,

The silent sapphire-spangled marriage ring of the

land ?

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