LITMIR.BIZ

      Fair and false!  No dawn will greet

         Thy waking beauty as of old;

      The little flower beneath thy feet

         Is alien to thy smile so cold;

      The merry bird flown up to meet

      Young morning from his nest i’ the wheat

         Scatters his joy to wood and wold,

         But scorns the arrogance of gold.

      False and fair!  I scarce know why,

         But standing in the lonely air,

      And underneath the blessed sky,

         I plead for thee in my despair;—

      For thee cut off, both heart and eye

      From living truth; thy spring quite dry;

         For thee, that heaven my thought may share,

         Forget—how false! and think—how fair!

      Two wedded lovers watched the rising moon,

         That with her strange mysterious beauty glowing,

         Over misty hills and waters flowing,

      Crowned the long twilight loveliness of June:

         And thus in me, and thus in me, they spake,

         The solemn secret of fist love did wake.

      Above the hills the blushing orb arose;

         Her shape encircled by a radiant bower,

         In which the nightingale with charméd power

      Poured forth enchantment o’er the dark repose:

         And thus in me, and thus in me, they said,

         Earth’s mists did with the sweet new spirit wed.

      Far up the sky with ever purer beam,

         Upon the throne of night the moon was seated,

         And down the valley glens the shades retreated,

      And silver light was on the open stream.

         And thus in me, and thus in me, they sighed,

         Aspiring Love has hallowed Passion’s tide.

      I cannot lose thee for a day,

         But like a bird with restless wing

      My heart will find thee far away,

         And on thy bosom fall and sing,

            My nest is here, my rest is here;—

         And in the lull of wind and rain,

         Fresh voices make a sweet refrain,

            ‘His rest is there, his nest is there.’

      With thee the wind and sky are fair,

         But parted, both are strange and dark;

      And treacherous the quiet air

         That holds me singing like a lark,

            O shield my love, strong arm above!

         Till in the hush of wind and rain,

         Fresh voices make a rich refrain,

            ‘The arm above will shield thy love.’

      Musing on the fate of Daphne,

      Many feelings urged my breast,

      For the God so keen desiring,

      And the Nymph so deep distrest.

      Never flashed thro’ sylvan valley

      Visions so divinely fair!

      He with early ardour glowing,

      She with rosy anguish rare.

      Only still more sweet and lovely

      For those terrors on her brows,

      Those swift glances wild and brilliant,

      Those delicious panting vows.

      Timidly the timid shoulders

      Shrinking from the fervid hand!

      Dark the tide of hair back-flowing

      From the blue-veined temples bland!

      Lovely, too, divine Apollo

      In the speed of his pursuit;

      With his eye an azure lustre,

      And his voice a summer lute!

      Looking like some burnished eagle

      Hovering o’er a fluttered bird;

      Not unseen of silver Naiad,

      And of wistful Dryad heard!

      Many a morn the naked beauty

      Saw her bright reflection drown

      In the flowing smooth-faced river,

      While

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