The lowest and highest. She interwreath'd
Her mortal obscureness with so much light
Of the world unrisen, that angel's wings
Could hardly have given her greater right
To float in the winds of the infinite.

And she came on me like a swift surprise,
Making the old earth born anew
Out of prophetic dawn, as through
Those lucid windows of the eyes
The souls of us look'd forth, and kiss'd
Suddenly, deeply, darkly: then
Each of the other's being guess'd
The central thought, there lying blest
Beyond the reach of vulgar ken.
What need of words, which are but faint
Colours in which we poorly paint
The eternal flame within, when ray
Mingles with ray, and shoots direct
Into the broad celestial day?
Yet Love, grown human, must affect
Our brittle human speech; and I
Sought by the weak infirmity
Of words to prove the truth of what
My innermost nature doubted not;
And at those words the vision died.

She answer'd, not with scorn or pride,
But rather with sorrowful ruth and awe,
That, gazing into the distance, saw
The Yes of the heart unratified
By the stern, awaiting Future. So
'Twere better that each alone should go
Through the desolate stretch of arid sand,
Than find at once the blissful land,
Only to faint on the slopes, and bleed
In the midst of the unpluck'd roses. Strange
That my eyes were blind, and could not read
In hers, that would so quickly range
From bright to dim, the cause of this
Her faltering answer! For indeed,—
As a planet out of the vast abyss
Comes with its golden blush suffused,
And, trembling ever with love and fear,
Withdraws itself to the finer sphere
Of heaven's interior ecstasies,—
She faded, smiling, like one unused
To earth; and as, for a little space,
The planet renews its shining grace,
And glows on the verge of the utmost dark,
She kindled at times (though I did not mark
The changes then) with a light of life,
Whereat I marvel I did not weep.

No hope! Yet ever within the strife
Of the common world I vow'd to keep
The thought of her as a central calm,
Refreshing myself with the sacred balm
Of a passion doubly full and deep
From the added sorrow. This I hold,—
That a true affection grows not cold
Because the sun has left its sky,
But all the night-time warms it by
Its own immortal heat and strength,
Being to its darkness sun and moon
And star; and knowing that at length
Desire of good, whate'er says Nay,
Fulfils itself, by some rough way
Reaching its Eden, though it swoon.

But still she faded with patient look;
And, as in a suddenly open'd book,
I read the peril that lay in wait
For the life of my life; read thus late
The truth, and felt reliev'd almost
When I saw stand off from the English coast
The ship that bore her, all its sails
Set for the soft Italian gales,
That visit the delicate shore of Nice
From leagues of sunlit sea and peace.
—Fair blow the warm winds over the sea,
And bright may the lovely country be
Where the winter spares the myrtle-tree,—
Divine for ever; but most of all
When she by its magic breaks the thrall
That keeps her heart from the heart of me!

                       ??

Month after month pursued its course,
Bringing me news which I perforce
Accepted as comfort, though I felt
The spirit of sadness lived throughout.
And thus, in a wrestle of hope and doubt,
I saw the spring in the summer melt,
And the airy flush of summer pass
Into the autumn's heavier mass.
October had touch' d the skies with grey,
And the year was sad with its hastening death:
But the west wind breath'd a balmy breath,
And the leaves were thick on bough and spray,
As I sat at my window, and watch'd the day
Wane into the grave, still afternoon,
And heard in a kind of waking dream
The distant brook, and the air aswoon
In the branchy trees. Some warning gleam
Of the imminent fact struck through me when
A letter, not from her dear pen,
Came to me out of the weary South.—
Oh, shaking hand! oh, clammy mouth!
Oh, eyes eclips'd in a sudden fear!
Oh, heart consumed in frightful drouth!
I dare not read what's written here!
No border and no seal of black,
Yet all— all black with fatal dread!
Oh, God, absorb me! smite me back
To naught! I read— I read it!—
                                              Dead!

Ah, now I see in rainy light
Of tears her answer growing white
With new translucence! Not for her
To feel a husband's fondness stir
Around her heart, where Death had set
His standard while its bloom was wet
With dew of the April morning. She,
Turning her face away from me,
Could bear to droop, but could not bear
To see the husband's mute despair;
Perhaps to leave, before she die,
The sweet and dreadful legacy
Of a small failing life,— a child
Declining, piteously mild,
To its young grave. Ah, bitter fate!
For Love's sake, Love denies its mate!
Yet clearer than noon's full garishness
Are the nights on which such dawns arise,
And sweeter the gall of such distress
Than the honey of most felicities.

                        ???

The sudden New Year bells burst in,
Trampling the dark with fiery din.
I start, and find myself once more
Wreck'd on the Present's craggy shore.
—The Year is dead, the Year is born:
It is the tender time, and sweet,
When, pinnacled 'twixt the night and morn,
The Year we grieve and the Year we greet