I muse, as in a trance, whene'er The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were So tranced, so rapt in ecstacies, To stand apart, and to adore, Serene, imperial Eleänore ! Sometimes, with most intensity Gazing, I seem to see Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep, In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite, But am as nothing in its light : As though a star, in inmost heaven set, Ev'n while we gaze on it, Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow To a full face, there like a sun remain Fix'd then as slowly fade again, And draw itself to what it was before; So full, so deep, so slow, Thought seems to come and go As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, Roof'd the world with doubt and fear, Floating thro' an evening atmosphere, In thee all passion becomes passionless, Losing his fire and active might In a silent meditation, Falling into a still delight, And luxury of contemplation : As waves that up a quiet cove Shadow forth the banks at will; Or sometimes they swell and move, With motions of the outer sea: And the self-same influence Controlleth all the soul and sense Of Passion gazing upon thee. His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and the moon, Or, in a shadowy saloon, On silken cushions half reclined, I watch thy grace; and in its place My heart a charmed slumber keeps, While I muse upon thy face; And a languid fire creeps Thro' my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly soon From thy rose-red lips My name Floweth; then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life. I die with my delight, before I hear what I would hear from thee; Yet tell my name again to me, I would be dying evermore, THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. I SEE the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, The slow wise smile that, round about Seem'd half-within and half-without, In yonder chair I see him sit Three fingers round the old silver cup, I see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest-gray eyes lit up |