With wing at either shoulder,
And smile that never left thy mouth
Until the Hours grew colder:

Then somewhat seem'd to whisper near
That thou and I must part;
I doubted it: I felt no fear,
No weight upon the heart:
If aught befell it, Love was by
And roll'd it off again;
So, if there ever was a sigh,
"Twas not a sigh of pain.

I may not call thee back; but thou
Returnest when the hand

Of gentle Sleep waves o'er my brow
His poppy-crested wand;

Then smiling eyes bend over mine,
Then lips once pressed invite;
But sleep hath given a silent sign,
And both, alas! take flight.

1853.

I was indocile at an age

When better boys were taught,
But thou at length hast made me sage,
If I am sage in aught.

Little I know from other men,
Too little they from me,
But thou hast pointed well the pen
That writes these lines to thee.

Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope,
One vile, the other vain;
One's scourge, the other's telescope,
I shall not see again :

Rather what lies before my feet
My notice shall engage—

He who hath braved Youth's dizzy heat
Dreads not the frost of Age.

1853.

I wonder not that Youth remains
With you, wherever else she flies:
Where could she find such fair domains.
Where bask beneath such sunny eyes?
1853.

ON MUSIC

MANY love music but for music's sake, Many because her touches can awake Thoughts that repose within the breast half-dead,

And rise to follow where she loves to lead.

What various feelings come from days

gone by!

What tears from far-off sources dim the

eye!

Few, when light fingers with sweet voices play

And melodies swell, pause, and melt

away,

In those pale olive grounds all voices

cease,

And from afar dust fills the paths of Greece.

My slumber broken and my doublet torn,

I find the laurel also bears a thorn.

1863.

THESEUS AND HIPPOLYTA 1

Hippolyta. Eternal hatred I have sworn against

The persecutor of my sisterhood; In vain, proud son of Egeus, hast thou snapped

Their arrows and derided them; in vain Leadest thou me a captive; I can die, And die I will.

Theseus. Nay; many are the years Of youth and beauty for Hippolyta. Hippolyta. I scorn my youth, I hate my beauty. Go!

Monster! of all the monsters in these wilds

Most frightful and most odious to my sight.

Theseus. I boast not that I saved thee from the bow