Listening the same hirds’ first and latest songs—
And still thou camest not. To the mind which waits
Upon one hour the others are but slaves.
The week hath but one day—the day one hour—
That hour of the heart—that lord of time.
Sweet one! I raced with light and passed the laggard
To meet thee—or, I mean I could have done—
Yea, have outsped the very dart of Death—
Se much I sought; and were I living light
From God, with leave to range the world, and choose
Another brow than His whereon to beam—
To mark what even an angel could but covet—
A something lovelier than Heaven’s loveliness—
To thee I straight would dart unheeding all
The lives of other worlds, even those who name
Themselves thy kind; for oft my mind o’ersoars
The stars; and pondering upon what may be
Of their chief lording natures, man’s seems worst—
The darkest, meanest, which, through all these worlds,
Drags what is deathless, may be, down to dust.
Speak not so bitterly of human kind;
I know that thou dost love it. Hast not heard
Of those great spirits, who, the greater grow,
The better we are able them to prize?
Great minds can never cease; yet have they not
A separate estate of deathlessness:
The future is a remnant of their life:
Our time is part of theirs, not theirs of ours:
They know the thoughts of ages long before.
It is not the weak mind feels the great mind’s might;
None but the great can test it. Does the oak
Or reed feel the strong storm most? Oh! unsay
What thou hast said of man; nor deem me wrong.
Mind cannot mind despise—it is itself.
Mind must love mind: the great and good are friends;
And he is but half great who is not good.
And, oh! humanity is the fairest flower
Blooming in earthly breasts; so sweet and pure,
That it might freshen even the fadeless wreaths
Twined round the golden harps of those in Heaven.
For thy sake I will love even man, or aught.
Spirit were I, and a mere mortal thou,
For thy sake I would even seek to die;
That, dead, or living, I might still be with thee.
But no! I’ll deem thee deathless—mind and make,
And worthier of some spirit’s love than mine;
Yea, of the first-born of God’s sons, could he
In that sweet shade thy beauty casts o’er all,
One moment lay and cool his burning soul;
Or might the ark of his wide flood-like woe
But rest upon that mount of peace and bliss—
Thy heart inbosomed in all beauteousness.
Nay, lady! shrink not. Thinkest thou I am he?
Thou art too noble, far. I oft have wished,
Ere I knew thee, I had some spirit’s love;
But thou art more like what I sought than man,
And a forbidden quest, it seems; for thou
Hast more of awe than love about thee, like
The mystery of dreams which we can feel,
But cannot touch.
Nay, think not so! It is wrong.
Come, let us sit in this thy favourite bower,
And I win hear thee sing. I love that voice,
Dipping more softly on the subject ear
Than that calm kiss the willow gives the wave—
A soft rich tone, a rainbow of sweet sounds,
Just spanning the soothed sense. Come, nay me not.
Do thou lead out some lay; I’ll follow thine.
Well, I agree. It will spare me much of shame
In coming after thee. My song is said
Of Lucifer the star. See there he shines! Sings.
I am Lucifer, the star:
Oh! think on me,
As I lighten from afar
The Heavens and thee!
In town, or tower,
Or this fair bower,
Oh! think on me;
Though a wandering star,
As the loveliest are,
I love but thee.Lady! When I brightest beam,
Love! look on me!
I am not what I may seem
To the world or thee;
But fain would love
With thee above,
Where thou wilt be.
But if love be a dream,
As the world doth deem,
What is’t to me?
Could we but deem the stars had hearts, and loved,
They would seem happier, holier, even than now;
And ah! why not? they are so beautiful;
And love is part and union in itself
Of all that is in nature brilliant, pure—
Of all in feeling sacred and sublime.
Surely the stars are images of love:
The sunbeam and the starbeam doth bring love.
The sky, the sea, the rainbow, and the stream
And dark blue hill, where all the loveliness
Of earth and Heaven, in sweet extatic strife,
Seem mingling hues which might immortal be,
If length of life by height of beauty went:
All seem but made for love—love made for all:
We do become all heart with those we love:
It is nature’s self—it is everywhere—it is here.
To me there is but one place in the world,
And that where thou art; for where’er I be,
Thy love doth seek its way into my heart,
As will a bird into her secret nest:
Then sit and sing; sweet wing of beauty, sing.
Bright one! who dwellest in the happy skies,
Rejoicing in thy light as does the brave,
In his keen flashing sword, and his strong arm’s
Swift swoop, canst thou, from among the sons of men,
Single out those who love thee as do I
Thee from thy fellow glories? If so, star,
Turn hither thy bright front; I love thee, friend.
Thou hast no deeds of darkness. All thou dost
Is to us light and beauty: yea, thou art
A globe all glory; thou who at the first
Didst answer to the angels which in Heaven
Sang the bright birth of earth, and even now,
As star by tar is born, dost sing the same
With countless hosts in infinite delight,
Be unto me a moment! Write thy bright
Light on my heart before the sun shall rise
And vanquish sight. Thou art the prophecy
Of light which He fulfils. Speak, shining star,
Drop from thy golden lips the truths of Heaven;
First of all stars and favourite of the skies,
Apostle of the sun—thou upon whom
His mantle resteth—speak, prophetic beauty!
Speak, shining star out of the heights of Heaven,
Beautiful being, speak to God for man!
Is it because of beauty thou wast chosen
To be the sign of sin? For surely sin
Must be surpassing lovely when for her
Men forfeit God’s reward of deathless bliss
And life divine; or, is it that such beauty,
Sometimes, before the truth,
