Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/985

One draught of what I shall not taste again
  Save when my brain with thy dark wine is brimm'd,—
One draught! and then straight onward, spite of pain,
  And spite of all things changed, with gaze undimm'd,
Love's footsteps thro' the waning Past to explore
  Undaunted; and to carve in the wan light
  Of Hope's last outposts, on Song's utmost height,
The sad resemblance of an hour or more.

Midnight, and love, and youth, and Italy!
  Love in the land where love most lovely seems!
Land of my love, tho' I be far from thee,
  Lend, for love's sake, the light of thy moonbeams,
The spirit of thy cypress-groves and all
  Thy dark-eyed beauty for a little while
  To my desire. Yet once more let her smile
Fall o'er me: o'er me let her long hair fall. . . .

Under the blessèd darkness unreproved
  We were alone, in that best hour of time
Which first reveal'd to us how much we loved,
  'Neath the thick starlight. The young night sublime
Hung trembling o'er us. At her feet I knelt,
  And gazed up from her feet into her eyes.
  Her face was bow'd: we breathed each other's sighs:
We did not speak: not move: we look'd: we felt.

The night said not a word. The breeze was dead.
  The leaf lay without whispering on the tree,
As I lay at her feet. Droop'd was her head:
  One hand in mine: and one still pensively
Went wandering through my hair. We were together.
  How? Where? What matter? Somewhere in a dream,
  Drifting, slow drifting down a wizard stream:
Whither? Together: then what matter whither?