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“‘O could I mightily stretch wings of power,
And beat with tempests thro' the sapphire sky,
To gather every sight
Seen by enraptured eagles soaring high!

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Then thro' thy dreams at night,
When moonbeams glorify the slumbering hour,
To thee in consecrated apple-flower,
Warble the treasures of my stored delight!
“‘How Iris strode athwart a stormy wood
And flushed with magic hues each trembling tree;
And from the mountain shone
Brighter than princess in array, when she
Before her father's throne,
Outshining all around her, wondering stood
'Mid dames and damosels, in timorous mood
Lest he, her chosen, failed to claim his own!
“‘Or I would, sunrise-warmed, and passion-strong,
Flit near and supplicate thee, Love, for grace,
Of thine accorded smile.
But should'st thou coldly from me turn thy face,
I would in gloom the while
There soothe an aching heart in lonely song,

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In utterance swifter as the sorrows throng
On me, poor outcast of a flowerless isle!
“‘And should some falcon peering thro' the day,
In search of plunder for his greedy bill,
Perchance my Love espy,
With startling cries would I the coppice fill,
That her irradiant eye
Marking the peril, she might speed away,
And nestled close in odorous safety stay,
Till death there hovering had relieved the sky.
“‘Responsive then in flight; or side by side
While swayed around the palpitating glow
Of fervid noontide sun,
Where gem-bespangled insects to and fro
Flashed meteors, one by one,
In trackless webs to net some fiery bride;
We would spray-seated watch them glancing wide,
A sylphic pageant, till their fates were spun!

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“‘And next in secret fastness disappear
When forests slumber under shadowing night;
And wearied things asleep
May sleep and dread no predatory flight
O'er water dark and deep,
Where fallen, drowned, the rounded moon lies sheer;
Slipt down with all her glory from the sphere,
Her clouds about her in a shining heap!
“‘Amid vast branches, blissful then to rest,
Where sighs the whispering hush of solitude.
When flowers their beauty close
And dream in sweetness, when no fingers rude
Can pluck their drooped repose.
Rejoicing then in an unburthened breast,
I'd sing how hearts that love are most unblessed
When hordes of doubt their loving hopes oppose!
“‘Of worship, would I sing, that laughs at time,
And, winning gracious worth by added years,

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Is loveliest in age!
By shouts would I disperse insidious fears
That deadly battle wage,
And swarm the hazards of a longed-for prime;
For love shouts loudest in our happy clime
When flowers of spring wear greenest equipage!’”