When I have stood with thee as on a throne With all thy dim creations gathered round Like mountains, and I felt of mould like them, And with them creatures of my own were mixed, Like things half-lived, catching and giving life. But thou art still for me who have adored Tho' single, panting but to hear thy name Which I believed a spell to me alone, Scarce deeming thou wast as a star to men! As one should worship long a sacred spring Scarce worth a moth's flitting, which long grasses cross, And one small tree embowers droopingly Joying to see some wandering insect won To live in its few rushes, or some locust To pasture on its boughs, or some wild bird Stoop for its freshness from the trackless air: And then should find it but the fountain-head, Long lost, of some great river washing towns And towers, and seeing old woods which will live But by its banks untrod of human foot, Which, when the great sun sinks, lie quivering In light as some thing lieth half of life Before God's foot, waiting a wondrous change; Then girt with rocks which seek to turn or stay Its course in vain, for it does ever spread Like a sea's arm as it goes rolling on, Being the pulse of some great country Wast thou to me, and art thou to the world! And I, perchance, half feel a strange regret That I am not what I have been to thee: Like a girl one has silently loved long In her first loneliness in some retreat,
When, late emerged, all gaze and glow to view Her fresh eyes and soft hair and lips which bloom
Like a mountain berry: doubtless it is sweet To see her thus adored, but there have been Moments when all the world was in our praise, Sweeter than any pride of after hours.
Yet, sun-treader, all hail! From my heart's heart I bid thee hail ! E'en in my wildest dreams, I proudly feel I would have thrown to dust
The wreaths of fame which seemed o'erhanging me, To see thee for a moment as thou art.
And if thou livest, if thou lovest, spirit! Remember me who set this final seal To wandering thought that one so pure as thou Could never die. Remember me who flung All honor from my soul, yet paused and said
There is one spark of love remaining yet, For I have naught in common with him, shapes Which followed him avoid me, and foul forms Seek me, which ne'er could fasten on his mind ; And though I feel how low I am to him, Yet I aim not even to catch a tone Of harmonies he called profusely up;
So, one gleam still remains, although the last." Remember me who praise thee e'en with tears, For nevermore shall I walk calm with thee; Thy sweet imaginings are as an air,
A melody some wondrous singer sings, Which, though it haunt men oft in the still eve, They dream not to essay; yet it no less But more is honored. I was thine in shame, And now when all thy proud renown is out, I am a watcher whose eyes have grown dim With looking for some star which breaks on him Altered and worn and weak and full of tears.
Autumn has come like spring returned to us, Won from her girlishness; like one returned A friend that was a lover, nor forgets
The first warm love, but full of sober thoughts Of fading years; whose soft mouth quivers yet With the old smile, but yet so changed and still! And here am I the scoffer, who have probed Life's vanity, won by a word again
Of this sweet friend who lives in loving me,
Lives strangely on my thoughts and looks and words, As fathoms down some nameless ocean thing Its silent course of quietness and joy. O dearest, if indeed I tell the past, May'st thou forget it as a sad sick dream! Or if it linger - my lost soul too soon Sinks to itself and whispers we shall be But closer linked, two creatures whom the earth Bears singly, with strange feelings unrevealed Save to each other; or two lonely things Created by some power whose reign is done, Having no part in God or his bright world. I am to sing whilst ebbing day dies soft, As a lean scholar dies worn o'er his book, And in the heaven stars steal out one by one As hunted men steal to their mountain watch. I must not think, lest this new impulse die In which I trust; I have no confidence : So, I will sing on fast as fancies come; Rudely, the verse being as the mood it paints.
I strip my mind bare, whose first elements
I shall unveil not as they struggled forth In infancy, nor as they now exist,
When I am grown above them and can rule - But in that middle stage when they were full Yet ere I had disposed them to my will; And then I shall show how these elements Produced my present state, and what it is.
I am made up of an intensest life, Of a most clear idea of consciousness Of self, distinct from all its qualities,
From all affections, passions, feelings, powers; And thus far it exists, if tracked, in all : But linked, in me, to self-supremacy, Existing as a centre to all things,
Most potent to create and rule and call
Upon all things to minister to it;
And to a principle of restlessness
Which would be all, have, see, know, taste, feel, all
This is myself; and I should thus have been Though gifted lower than the meanest soul.
And of my powers, one springs up to save From utter death a soul with such desire Confined to clay — of powers the only one Which marks me an imagination which Has been a very angel, coming not In fitful visions but beside me ever And never failing me; so, though my mind Forgets not, not a shred of life forgets, Yet I can take a secret pride in calling The dark past up to quell it regally.
A mind like this must dissipate itself, But I have always had one lode-star; now, As I look back, I see that I have halted
Or hastened as I looked towards that star A need, a trust, a yearning after God: A feeling I have analyzed but late, But it existed, and was reconciled With a neglect of all I deemed his laws, Which yet, when seen in others, I abhorred. I felt as one beloved, and so shut in
From fear and thence I date my trust in signs And omens, for I saw God everywhere; And I can only lay it to the fruit
Of a sad after-time that I could doubt Even his being - e'en the while I felt His presence, never acted from myself, Still trusted in a hand to lead me through All danger; and this feeling ever fought Against my weakest reason and resolve.
And I can love nothing
and this dull truth Has come the last but sense supplies a love Encircling me and mingling with my life. These make myself: I have long sought in vain To trace how they were formed by circumstance, Yet ever found them mould my wildest youth Where they alone displayed themselves, converted All objects to their use: now see their course!
They came to me in my first dawn of life Which passed alone with wisest ancient books All halo-girt with fancies of my own; And I myself went with the tale Wandering after beauty, or a giant Standing vast in the sunset an old hunter Talking with gods, or a high-crested chief Sailing with troops of friends to Tenedos. I tell you, naught has ever been so clear
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