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Strange, that the mind, when fraught
With a passion so intense

One would think that it well

Might drown all life in the eye,-
That it should, by being so overwrought,
Suddenly strike on a sharper sense
For a shell, or a flower, little things
Which else would have been past by!
And now I remember, I,
When he lay dying there,
I noticed one of his many rings

(For he had many, poor worm) and thought

It is his mother's hair.


Who knows if he be dead ?

Whether I need have fled ?

Am I guilty of blood ?

However this



Comfort her, comfort her, all things good,

While I am over the sea !

Let me and my passionate love go by, But speak to her all things holy and high,

Whatever happen to me!
Me and my harmful love go by;
But come to her waking, find her asleep,
Powers of the height, Powers of the deep,

And comfort her tho' I die.



O THAT 'twere possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love

Round me once again!


When I was wont to meet her

In the silent woody places
Of the land that gave me birth,
We stood tranced in long embraces

Mixt with kisses sweeter sweeter

Than any thing on earth.


A shadow flits before me,

Not thou, but like to thee;
Ah Christ, that it were possible

For one short hour to see

The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be.


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It leads me forth at evening,
It lightly winds and steals
In a cold white robe before me,

When all my spirit reels
At the shouts, the leagues of lights,
And the roaring of the wheels.


Half the night I waste in sighs,

Half in dreams I sorrow after

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For the band, the lips, the eyes,
For the meeting of the morrow,
The delight of happy laughter,
The delight of low replies.


'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
And a dewy splendour falls
On the little flower that clings
To the turrets and the walls ;

'Tis a morning pure and sweet,
And the light and shadow fleet;
She is walking in the meadow,
And the woodland echo rings ;
In a moment we shall meet;
She is singing in the meadow,

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