 | The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes |  |
107
VII. Recognition.
Soft! Stand away! those features—Do not stir!Be breathless if thou canst!.. The trembling ray
Of some approaching thought, I know not what,
Gleams on my darkened mind. It will be here
Directly: now I feel it growing, growing,
Like a man's shadow, when the sun floats slowly
Through the white border of a baffled cloud:
And now the pale conception furls and thickens.
'Tis settled.—Yes—Beroe!—How dare thy cheek
Be wan and withered as a wrinkling moon
Upon the tumbled waves? Why camest thou here?
I dreamt of thee last night, as thou wert once,
But I shall never dream of thee again.
| The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | |