I. MY BEAUTIFUL LADY.

I love My Lady; she is very fair;

Her brow is wan, and bound by simple hair:

Her spirit sits aloof, and high,

But glances from her tender eye

In sweetness droopingly.

As a young forest while the wind drives through,

My life is stirred when she breaks on my view;

Her beauty grants my will no choice

But silent awe, till she rejoice

My longing with her voice.

Her warbling voice, though ever low and mild,

Oft makes me feel as strong wine would a child:

And though her hand be airy light

Of touch, it moves me with its might,

As would a sudden fright.

A hawk high poised in air, whose nerved wing-tips

Tremble with might suppressed, before he dips,

In vigilance, hangs less intense

Than I, when her voice holds my sense

Contented in suspense.

Her mention of a thing, august or poor,

Makes it far nobler than it was before:

As where the sun strikes life will gush,

And what is pale receive a flush,

Rich hues, a richer blush.

My Lady's name, when I hear strangers use,

Not meaning her, sounds to me lax misuse;

I love none but My Lady's name;

Maud, Grace, Rose, Marian, all the same,

Are harsh, or blank and tame.

My Lady walks as I have seen a swan

Swim where a glory on the water shone:

There ends of willow branches ride,

Quivering in the flowing tide,

By the deep river's side.

Fresh beauties, howsoe'er she moves, are stirred:

As the sunned bosom of a humming bird

At each pant lifts some fiery hue,

Fierce gold, bewildering green or blue;

The same, yet ever new.

What time she walks beneath the flowering May,

Quite sure am I the scented blossoms say,

“O Lady with the sunlit hair!

Stay and drink our odorous air,

The incense that we bear:

“Thy beauty, Lady, we would ever shade;

For near to thee, our sweetness might not fade.”

And could the trees be broken-hearted,

The green sap surely must have smarted,

When my Lady parted.

How beautiful she is! A glorious gem

She shines above the summer diadem

Of flowers! And when her light is seen

Among them, all in reverence lean

To her, their tending Queen.

A man so poor that want assaults his health,

Blessed with relief one morn in boundless wealth,

Breathes no such joy as mine, when she

Stands statelier, expecting me,

Than tall white lilies be:

And the white flutter of her robe to trace,

Where clematis and jasmine interlace,

Expands my gaze triumphantly:

Even such his gaze, who sees on high

His flag, for victory.

We wander forth unconsciously, because

The azure beauty of the evening draws;

When sober hues pervade the ground,

And universal life is drowned

Into hushed depths of sound.

We thread a copse where frequent bramble spray

With loose obtrusion from the side roots stray,

And force sweet pauses on our walk;

I lift one with my foot, and talk

About its leaves and stalk.

Or maybe that some thorn or prickly stem

Will take a prisoner her long garments’ hem;

To disentangle it I kneel,

Oft wounding more than I can heal;

It makes her laugh, my zeal.

Or on before a thin-legged robin hops,

And leaping on a twig, he pertly stops,

Speaking a few clear notes, till nigh

We draw, when briskly he will fly

Into a bush close by.

A flock of goldfinches arrest their flight,

And wheeling round a birchen tree alight

Deep in its glittering leaves; and stay

Till scared at our approach, when they

Strike with vexed trills away.

I recollect My Lady in the wood,

Keeping her breath, while peering as she stood

There, balanced lightly on tiptoe,

To mark a nest built snug below,

Leaves shadowing her brow.

I recollect her puzzled, asking me,

What that strange tapping in the wood might be?

I told of gourmand thrushes, which,

To feast on morsels oosy rich,

Cracked poor snails’ curling niche.

And then, as knight led captive, in romance,

Through postern and dark passage, past grim glance

Of arms; where from throned state the dame

He loved, in sumptuous blushes came

To him held dumb for shame:

Even so my spirit passed, and won, through fears

That trembled nigh despair; through foolish tears,

And hope fallen weak in breathless flight,

Where beamed in pure entrancing light

Love's beauty on my sight.

For when we reached a hollow, where the stone

And scattered fragments of the shells lay strown,

By margin of a weedy rill;

“This air,” she said, “feels damp and chill,

We'll go home if you will.”

“Make not my pathway dull so soon,” I cried;

“See how yon clouds of rosy eventide

Roll out their splendour: while the breeze

Shifts gold from leaf to leaf, as these

Lithe saplings move at ease!”

Grateful, in her deep silence, one loud thrush

Startled the air with song; then every bush

Of covert songsters all awoke,

And all, as to their leader's stroke,

Into full chorus broke.

A lonely wind sighed up the pines, and sung

Of woes long past, forgot. My spirit hung

O'er awful gulfs: and loathly dread

So bitter was I wished me dead,

And from a great void said;

“Wait till its glory fade; the sun but burned

To light your loveliness!” The Lady turned

To me, flushed by its lingering rays,

Mute as a star. My frantic praise

Fixed wide her brightened gaze:

When, rapt in resolution, I told all

The mighty love I bore her; how would pall

My very breath of life, if she

For ever breathed not hers with me:—

Could I a spirit be,

How, vainly hoping to enrich her grace,

What gems and wonders would I snatch from space;

Would back through the vague distance beat,

Glowing with joy her smile to meet,

And heap them round her feet!

Her waist shook to my arm. She bowed her head

To mine in silence, and my fears had fled:

( Just then we heard a tolling bell. )

Ah no; it is not right to tell;

But I remember well

How dear the pressure of her warm young breast

Against my own, her home; how proud and blessed

I stood and felt her trickling tears,

While proudly murmuring in her ears

The hope of distant years.

The rest I keep: a holy charm, a source

Of secret strength and comfort on my course.

Her glory left my pathway bright;

And stars on stars throughout the night

Came blooming into light.