CXXX, THREE SONNETS ON SORROW. I. A CHILD, with mystic eyes and flowing hair, I saw her first, 'mid flowers that shared her grace ; Though but a boy, I cried, "How fair a face!" And, coming nearer, told her she was fair. She faintly smiled, yet did not say "Forbear!" At length we stood upon a brooklet's brink— The while her eyes upon its flow were set. "Thy name?" I asked; she whispered low, "Regret," Then faded as the sun began to sink. CXXXI. THREE SONNETS ON SORROW. II. WE met again, as I foresaw we should ; Youth flooded all my veins, and she had grown To woman's height, yet seemed a rose half blown. Like sunset clouds that o'er a landscape brood Her eyes were, that they might not be withstood, And like the wind's voice when it takes the tone Of pine trees was her voice. I cried "My own!" And kneeling there I worshipped her and wooed. O bitter marriage, though inevitable, Ordained by fate, who wrecks or saves our days! Lo, the changed bride, no longer fair of face, And in her eyes the very fires of hell! Thy name?" I cried; and these words hissing fell— "Anguish—and madness comes of my embrace." CXXXII. THREE SONNETS ON SORROW. III. WHAT thing may be to come I cannot know. There is no sound, now, in the house at all, She would rise with him at the Judgment Day. OXXXIII. MINE. IN that trauced hush when sound sank awed to rest, The plaintive surges of our mortal state, Do I wake into a dream, or have we twain, Lured by soft wiles to some unconscious crime, On two who entered heaven before their time! CXXXIV. IMMORTALITY. AN INFERENCE. IF I had lived ere seer or prince unveiled So thou, with thoughts and longings which our earth Can never compass in its narrow verge, Shalt the fit region of thy spirit gain, And death fulfil the promptings of thy birth. |