I saw thee once—once only—years ago:
I must not say how
many—but not many.
It was a July
midnight; and from out
A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring,
Sought a
precipitate pathway up through heaven,
There fell a
silvery-silken veil of light,
With quietude and
sultriness and slumber,
Upon the upturned faces of a thousand
Roses that grew in
an enchanted garden,
Where no wind dared
to stir, unless on tiptoe—
Fell on the
upturn'd faces of these roses
That gave out, in
return for the love-light,
Their odorous souls
in an ecstatic death—
Fell on the
upturn'd faces of these roses
That smiled and
died in this parterre, enchanted
By thee, and by the
poetry of thy presence.
Clad all in white,
upon a violet bank
I saw thee half
reclining; while the moon
Fell on the
upturn'd faces of the roses,
And on thine own,
upturn'd—alas, in sorrow!
Was it not Fate,
that, on this July midnight—
Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow),
That bade me pause before that garden-gate,
To breathe the
incense of those slumbering roses?
No footstep stirred:
the hated world all slept,
Save only thee and
me. (Oh, heaven!—oh, God!
How my heart beats
in coupling those two words!)
Save only thee and
me. I paused—I looked—
And in an instant
all things disappeared.
(Ah, bear in mind
this garden was enchanted!)
The pearly lustre
of the moon went out:
The mossy banks and
the meandering paths,
The happy flowers
and the repining trees,
Were seen no more:
the very roses' odors
Died in the arms of
the adoring airs.
All—all expired save thee—save less than thou:
Save only the
divine light in thine eyes—
Save but the soul
in thine uplifted eyes.
I saw but them—they were the world to me!
I saw but them—saw only them for hours,
Saw only them until
the moon went down.
What wild
heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten
Upon those
crystalline, celestial spheres!
How dark a woe, yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene
a sea of pride!
How daring an ambition; yet how deep—
How fathomless a capacity for love!
Into a western couch of thunder-cloud;
And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees
Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained;
They would not go—they never yet have gone;
Lighting my lonely
pathway home that night,
They have not left me (as my hopes have) since;
They follow me—they lead me through the years.
They are my
ministers—yet I their slave.
Their office is to
illumine and enkindle—
My duty, to be
saved by their bright light,
And purified in their electric fire,
And sanctified in
their elysian fire.
They fill my soul
with Beauty (which is Hope),
And are far up in Heaven—the stars I kneel to
In the sad, silent
watches of my night;
While even in the
meridian glare of day
I see them still—two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!
