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 upturn'd 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 — ( O Heaven!— O 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 unwritten 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! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,
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!
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