Silence gave that rose and bee

For the lock, in meteness;
And the turning of the key

Be

Goes in humming sweetness.

my chamber tapestried

With the showers of summer,

Close but soundless,-glorified

When the sunbeams come here

Wandering harpers, harping on

Chorded drops, as such,—

Drawing colours, for a tune,
With a vibrant touch.

VOL. II.

Bring a shadow green and still
From the chesnut forest,-

Bring a purple from the hill,

When the heat is sorest,

Spread them out from wall to wall,

Carpet-wove around,

Whereupon the foot shall fall

In light instead of sound.

Bring the fantasque cloudlets home,

From the noontide zenith;

Ranged, for sculptures, round the room,—

Named as Fancy weeneth:

Some be Junos, without eyes—

Naiads, without sources.

Some be birds of paradise,

Some, Olympian horses.

Bring the dews the birds shake off,

Waking in the hedges,

Those too, perfumed for a proof,

From the lilies' edges:

From our England's field and moor,
Bring them calm and white in,—

Whence to form a mirror pure,
For Love's self-delighting!

Bring a grey cloud from the east,
Where the lark is singing,

Something of the song at least,

Unlost in the bringing:

That shall be a morning chair,

Poet-dream may sit in,

When it leans out on the air,

Unrhymed and unwritten.

Bring the red cloud from the sun

While he sinketh, catch it—

That shall be a couch,-with one
Sidelong star to watch it,-

Fit for poet's finest Thought,

At the curfew-sounding,—

!

Things unseen being nearer brought Than the seen, around him.

Poet's thought, not poet's sigh!

'Las, they come together!

Cloudy walls divide and fly,

As in April weather!

Corridor and column proud,

Chamber bright to see

Gone!-except that moonlit cloud,

To which I looked with thee!

Let them! Wipe such visionings

From the Fancy's cartel—

Love secures some fairer things

Dowered with his immortal!

Suns may darken,-heaven be bowed

Still, unchanged shall be,

Soul-deep,-here-that moonlit cloud,

To which I looked with THEE!

CATARINA TO CAMOËNS;

DYING IN HIS ABSENCE ABROAD, AND REFERRING TO THE POEM IN WHICH HE RECORDED THE SWEETNESS OF HER EYES.

On the door you will not enter,
I have gazed too long-adieu !
Hope withdraws her peradventure-
Death is near me,—and not you !

Come, O lover,

Close and cover

These poor eyes, you called, I ween,
'Sweetest eyes, were ever seen.'

When I heard you sing that burden
In my vernal days and bowers,
Other praises disregarding,

I but hearkened that of yours,—