Poems . nor yet too soon ;I have sighed for, and sought for, her;sadder and fonder(All through the lonely and lingeringnoon)Than a maiden that sits by the lattice toponderOn vows made in vain, long since,under the dusky hair she hath shaken free, And her tender eyes are w ild with love ;And her balmy bosom lies bare to hath lighted the seven sweet Plei-ads above,She is breathing over the dreaming sea, .She is murmuring low in the cedar grove ;She hath j)ut to sleep the moaning doveIn the silent cypress-tree. And there is no voice nor whisper, —-No voice nor whisper. In the hill
Poems . nor yet too soon ;I have sighed for, and sought for, her;sadder and fonder(All through the lonely and lingeringnoon)Than a maiden that sits by the lattice toponderOn vows made in vain, long since,under the dusky hair she hath shaken free, And her tender eyes are w ild with love ;And her balmy bosom lies bare to hath lighted the seven sweet Plei-ads above,She is breathing over the dreaming sea, .She is murmuring low in the cedar grove ;She hath j)ut to sleep the moaning doveIn the silent cypress-tree. And there is no voice nor whisper, —-No voice nor whisper. In the hillside olives all at blue-lighted Hesper, Sinking, slowly, in the liquid west:For the nights heart knovveth bestLove by silence most nightingales keep muteEach one his fairy Hute,Where the mute stars look the laurels close the green .seaside :Only one amorous liiteTwangs in the distant town,From some lattice opened wide :The climbing rose and vine are here, -5ii We watched the fair moon draw the murmuring main.—Page i68. IN ITALY. 169 On the terrace, around, above me :The lone Ledsean* lights from yon en-chanted airLook down upon my spirit, like a spir-its eyes that love me. How beautiful, at night, to muse on themountain in purple air, and all alone !How beautiful, at night, to look into thelightOf loving eyes, when loving lips leandown unto our own !But there is no hand in mine, no handin any tender cheek against me prest:O stars that oer me shine, I pine, I pine,1 hopeless fancies hidden in anever-hungering breast! O where, 0 where is she that should spirit my spirit dreameth ?With the passionate eyes, so deep, sodear,Where a secret sweetness beameth ?0 sleepeth she, with her soft gold hairStreaming over the fragrant a rich dream glowing in her away, I know not lonely shores, where the tumblingbillowSounds all night in an emerald creek ? Or doth she
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