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Ah me! in what immortal hour of time,
Under what star, in what enchanted weather, In what new Eden, in what fairy clime,
Nature, shall thy perfections meet together? When youthful hearts, rejoicing in their May,
Shall bide in cheerful faith the unborn hour, And the wise spirit not regret the day
That brings the fruit, but takes away the flower ? When Hope and Love, so lavish of delight,
Shall laugh and sing, yet crown their early years With those rare buds, more odorous than bright,
And that wise spirit, now the growth of tears ?
Ah! vexed Life, there is no other wand
But Death's cold finger-take him for thy friend; He leadeth Truth and Beauty hand in hand, He brings thee Youth and Knowledge without end.
The hedge on high is quick with thorn,
And by the thorns and by the wind
The blossom that I took was thinn’d,
Thence to a richer growth I came,
Where, nursed in mellow intercourse,
The honeysuckles sprang by scores, Not harried like my single stem,
All virgin lamps of scent and dew.
So from my hand that first I threw, Yet plucked not any more of them.
DANTE G. ROSSETTI.
Brought on by dew and sun and shower,
It opened at the matin hour
A green nest full of pleasant shade,
Wherein three speckled eggs were laid : But when they should have hatched in May The two old birds had
afraid Or tired, and flew away. Then, in my wrath, I broke the bough
That I had tended so with care,
Hoping its scent should fill the air : I crushed the eggs, not heeding how
Their ancient promise had been fair; I would have vengeance now.
But the dead branch spoke from the sod,
And the eggs answered me again :
Because we failed dost thou complain ? Is thy wrath just? And what if God,
Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain, Should also take the rod ?
O what is lost that never may be told ?-
ONSIDER the sea's listless chime :
Time's self it is, made audible,
The murmur of the earth's own shell. Secret continuance sublime
Is the sea's end : our sight may pass
No furlong further. Since time was, This sound hath told the lapse of time.
No quiet, which is death's,-it hath
The mournfulness of ancient life,
Enduring always at dull strife. As the world's heart of rest and wrath,
Its painful pulse is in the sands.
Last utterly, the whole sky stands, Grey and not known, along its path.
Listen alone beside the sea,
Listen alone among the woods ;
These voices of twin solitudes Shall have one sound alike to thee :
Hark where the murmurs of thronged men
Surge and sink back and surge again,Still the one voice of wave and tree.
Gather a shell from the strown beach
And listen at its lips : they sigh
The same desire and mystery, The echo of the whole sea's speech.
And all mankind is thus at heart
Not any thing but what thou art : And Earth, Sea, Man, are all in each.
DANTE G. ROSSETTI.
You haste away so soon;
Will go with you along !
We have short time to stay as you,