The poetical works of Bayard Taylor Household Edition : with illustrations |
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A LOVER'S TEST |
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 | The poetical works of Bayard Taylor |  |
A LOVER'S TEST
I sat to-day beneath the pine
And saw the long lake shine.
The wind was weary, and the day
Sank languidly away
Behind the forest's purple rim:
The sun was fair for me, I lived for him!
And saw the long lake shine.
The wind was weary, and the day
Sank languidly away
Behind the forest's purple rim:
The sun was fair for me, I lived for him!
I did not miss you. All was sweet,
Sky, earth, and soul complete
In harmony, which could afford
No more, nor spoil the chord.
Could I be blest, and you afar,
Were other I, or you, than what we are?
Sky, earth, and soul complete
In harmony, which could afford
No more, nor spoil the chord.
Could I be blest, and you afar,
Were other I, or you, than what we are?
The sifted silver of the night
Rained down a strange delight;
The moon's moist beams on meadows made
Pale bars athwart the shade,
And murmurs crept from tree to tree,
Mysterious whispers—not from you to me!
Rained down a strange delight;
The moon's moist beams on meadows made
Pale bars athwart the shade,
And murmurs crept from tree to tree,
Mysterious whispers—not from you to me!
I stirred the embers, roused the brand
And mused: on either hand
The pedigree of human thought
Sang, censured, cheered, or taught.
Pausing at each Titanic line,
I caught no echo of your soul to mine!
And mused: on either hand
The pedigree of human thought
Sang, censured, cheered, or taught.
Pausing at each Titanic line,
I caught no echo of your soul to mine!
At last, when life recast its form
To passive rest and warm,
Ere the soft, lingering senses cease
In sleep's half-conscious peace,
The wish I might have fashioned died
In dreams that never brought you to my side!
To passive rest and warm,
Ere the soft, lingering senses cease
In sleep's half-conscious peace,
The wish I might have fashioned died
In dreams that never brought you to my side!
Farewell! my nature's highest stress
Mine equal shall possess.
'T is easier to renounce, or wait,
Haply, the perfect fate.
My coldness is the haughty fire
That naught consumes except its full desire!
Mine equal shall possess.
321
Haply, the perfect fate.
My coldness is the haughty fire
That naught consumes except its full desire!
1874.
| The poetical works of Bayard Taylor | |