In her eyes is the living light Of a wanderer to earth From a far celestial height: Summers five are all the span —
Summers five since Time began To veil in mists of human night A shining angel-birth. Does an angel look from her eyes?
Will she suddenly spring away, And soar to her home in the skies? Beatrice! Blessing and blessed to be! Beatrice! Still, as I gaze on thee,
Visions of two sweet maids arise, Whose life was of yesterday: Of a Beatrice pale and stern, With the lips of a dumb despair,
With the innocent eyes that yearn — Yearn for the young sweet hours of life, Far from sorrow and far from strife, For the happy summers, that never return,
When the world seemed good and fair: Of a Beatrice glorious, bright — Of a sainted, ethereal maid, Whose blue eyes are deep fountains of light,
Cheering the poet that broodeth apart, Filling with gladness his desolate heart, Like the moon when she shines thro’ a cloudless night On a world of silence and shade.
And the visions waver and faint, And the visions vanish away That my fancy delighted to paint — She is here at my side, a living child,
With the glowing cheek and the tresses wild, Nor death-pale martyr, nor radiant saint, Yet stainless and bright as they. For I think, if a grim wild beast
Were to come from his charnel-cave, From his jungle-home in the East — Stealthily creeping with bated breath, Stealthily creeping with eyes of death —
He would all forget his dream of the feast, And crouch at her feet a slave. She would twine her hand in his mane: She would prattle in silvery tone,
Like the tinkle of summer-rain — Questioning him with her laughing eyes, Questioning him with a glad surprise, Till she caught from those fierce eyes again
The love that lit her own. And be sure, if a savage heart, In a mask of human guise, Were to come on her here apart —
Bound for a dark and a deadly deed, Hurrying past with pitiless speed — He would suddenly falter and guiltily start At the glance of her pure blue eyes.
Nay, be sure, if an angel fair, A bright seraph undefiled, Were to stoop from the trackless air, Fain would she linger in glad amaze —
Lovingly linger to ponder and gaze, With a sister's love and a sister's care, On the happy, innocent child.
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