 | Aonian Hours; And Other Poems |  |
137
Parting.
Autumn noons were throwing
Lights serene and glowing
On mountain, lake, and tree,
And a soft melancholy,
Making the day more holy,
Brooded o'er earth and sea,
When first I flew to greet thee,
Empassioned Zobëide!
And O, so soft and sweetly
Came thy mild voice to me,
It woke to new vibration,
This sad heart's long stagnation,
Which trembled all to thee.
Lights serene and glowing
On mountain, lake, and tree,
And a soft melancholy,
Making the day more holy,
Brooded o'er earth and sea,
When first I flew to greet thee,
Empassioned Zobëide!
And O, so soft and sweetly
Came thy mild voice to me,
It woke to new vibration,
This sad heart's long stagnation,
Which trembled all to thee.
Sickness her best bloom shrouded,
Her young cheek sadness clouded,
And dear that cloud to me,
Yet would a sudden hectic,
Light her wild eye electric,
When wizard Poesy
In gold her numbers weaving,
Rejoicing, soothing, grieving,
Thrilled the fair breast, whose heaving
Gleamed like white waves at sea;
Till I could deem its splendour
So passing bright and tender,
Was lit alone for me.
Her young cheek sadness clouded,
And dear that cloud to me,
Yet would a sudden hectic,
Light her wild eye electric,
140
In gold her numbers weaving,
Rejoicing, soothing, grieving,
Thrilled the fair breast, whose heaving
Gleamed like white waves at sea;
Till I could deem its splendour
So passing bright and tender,
Was lit alone for me.
Autumn winds were rending
The berries redly bending
Of one lone sumach tree,
When the quick tears half-starting
To my dim lids at parting,
She gave her hand to me;
'Twas like that earlier token
With which my heart was broken,
Few were the accents spoken,
Enough that I could see
She shrunk away in sorrow,
From thoughts that on the morrow,
Our hands apart would be.
The berries redly bending
Of one lone sumach tree,
When the quick tears half-starting
To my dim lids at parting,
She gave her hand to me;
'Twas like that earlier token
With which my heart was broken,
Few were the accents spoken,
Enough that I could see
She shrunk away in sorrow,
From thoughts that on the morrow,
Our hands apart would be.
141
The year's last rose hung wreathing
Around, faint odours breathing
From its decaying tree;
Unhoping I bereaved it,
Unsmiling she received it,
Stole one swift glance at me,
Then in her book disposed it
With lingering hand, and closed it,
Where sacredly reposed it,
Pledge of past joys to be;
As though that eye had uttered,
To soothe the heart which fluttered,
“Yes! I'll remember thee.”
Around, faint odours breathing
From its decaying tree;
Unhoping I bereaved it,
Unsmiling she received it,
Stole one swift glance at me,
Then in her book disposed it
With lingering hand, and closed it,
Where sacredly reposed it,
Pledge of past joys to be;
As though that eye had uttered,
To soothe the heart which fluttered,
“Yes! I'll remember thee.”
| Aonian Hours; And Other Poems | |