Madmoments: or First Verseattempts :: :: University of Virginia Library

No Poet gives to his divinest Dream,
The Depth and Breadth, th'Etherial Beauty thrown
By Weekday Nature, without Effort on
Life's most familiar Object-with one Beam
Of purple Sunlight, She can make it seem
More magicfair than aught that éer was shown
In Fairytale, to dreaming Fancys' own
Enraptured eye-She pours above the Stream
The Golden Moonlight, and behold! it flows
Like Fableriver thro' enchanted Land!
Was éer the waist of Homer's Venus spanned
By Zone of Beauty, like to that she throws
Each Day round earth, or could Magician's wand
Frame aught more lovely than the Child or Rose?
His sweetest Thoughts the Poet, at her Hand

Receives, and He the greatest is, who knows
To poetize like her, to make his verse
A deep, clear Echo, of this so, so grand
Yet silent Poem of the Universe!

2.

Behold a wonder of her Working! Nigh
The Couch, all hush'd, and chaste, I stand, where lies
She who should be my Bride. Upon her Eyes
The melting Darkness, and the pure Dreams, by
Whose fair Shapes, Angels lend their Ministry
Unto the Good, still lingèr—'tis Sunrise;
And Lo! éen now his light with Purple dies
Has steeped the Curtains, So, So, lovelily,
That like a Rosyveil they shade her Sleep,
And with Etherial Blushes tinge her Brow!
The Sense of wonder fills my Soul so deep,
This Miracle wrought here for me, seéms so,
Unreal, yet is so real, thas I scarce know
Whether, or where I am, but turn and weep!

3.

She is but in a Dream! yet doth she seem
Herself like one, and all that's round me here,
I also; yet I see all this as clear
As waking Eyes can do! 'tis no vain Dream!
But given to the yearning Heart, to be
Clasped to the Breast, a calm Reality!
And is this Angel; yea! Such will I deem
Her, destined for these mortal Arms? then hear
My Prayer, Oh God! and grant that I may n'eer
Embrace her but as such-that as the Beam
Of thy bless'd Sunlight shows her to me now,
So chaste, so pure, so holy in my Eyes,
That thus still undefiled by Passions low,
Her Form in its first Loveliness may rise

To Afterview; that gazing on her Brow,
With Sight sublimed by fearless Faith, and high
Imagination's Divine Power, Ine'er
Forget that She is destined for the skies!
Ne'er bring a Blush to her chaste Cheek, a Tear
To that soft Eye, nor sully but with one
Unworthy Thought or Deed, the Angel by
My side, but still behold in Her, alone
The Godlike Being, sleeping neath mine Eye!
And now softkneeling by the Couch, I kiss
Chastely, the white Hand drooping gently down,
While Fancy, busy with some Dream of Bliss,
Blends Magiclike, th' Impression with her own
Pure forms—And Lo! she dreams an Angel bright
Kneels by her side! God! grant that she be right!
Grant that believing it myself, I grow
That Angel and that she may find me so!
And that the Angel of her Dream may be,
But what her waking Eye will daily see;
Yea! give me Faith but to fulfill my Prayer,
For that which we believe we really are!

4.

And Thou, vain Fancy! with what Dream wouldst thou
Replace that which I gaze on, if once lost?
Tho' thou shouldst bring back Youth, and o'er me throw
His Magicmantle, yet thou couldst at most
Wrap me in unreal Joys! but here I have,
More, far more than thy Charmingwand éer gave
To favored Poet-And all Palpable
As Broaddaylight-but where hast thou a Spell,
That thus can realize the wildest Dream
And bind it to the Humanheart whereby
We live, with during Ties of Flesh and Blood,
And thence, of weekday Bliss, draw the full Stream!
This Wonder of all Wonders, a Good God

Enables us to work, who moulded Heart
And Fancy for eachother's Aid; then part
Not that which He has joined; for Thou thereby,
If but once thou hast learnt the Godlike Art,
Een Fancy's most Ethereal Tints mayst throw
O'er the coarse Forms of harsh Reality,
Till nothing longer shall seem mean or low,
But all, all Godlike-yea! till thou canst make
The coarse, hard Convass of Life's worst Day, take
Hues which a Raphael's Hand could ne'er impart:
A Grand Cartoon! wherein thyself and all
Thy Fellowmen, as Angels walk, and where,
Each thing, yea éen the least, serves to recall,
The End for which we breathe, and live and are!