A Sicilian Story :: :: University of Virginia Library

If, at this dim and silent hour,
Spirits have a power
To wander from their homes of light,
And on the winds of night
To come, and to a human eye
Stand visible, like mortality—

II

Come thou, the lost Marcelia, thou—
And on thy sunny brow
Bear all thy beauty as of old,
For I dare behold
Whatever sights sublime there be,
So I may once more look on thee.

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III

Or be thou like a dæmon thing,
Or shadow hovering,
Or like the bloody shapes that come
With torch and sound of drum,
Scaring the warrior's slumbers, I
Will welcome thee, and wish thee nigh.

IV

And I would talk of the famous brave,
Of the dead, and their house the grave,
And feel its wondrous silentness,
And pity those whom none may bless,
And see how far the gaping tomb
Stretches its spectral arms—and hear my doom.

V

And I would know how long they lie
On their dark beds who die,
And if they feel, or joy, or weep,
Or ever dare to sleep
In that strange land of shadows. Thou
Whom I do call, come hither—now.

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VI

But there thou art, a radiant spirit,
And dost inherit
Earlier than others thy blue home,
And art free to roam
Like a visiting beam, from star to star,
And shed thy smiles from skies afar.

VII

Then, soft and gentle beauty, be
Still like a star to me;
And I will ever turn at night
Unto thy soothing light,
And fancy, while before thine eyes,
I am full in the smile of Paradise.