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Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this?

'The dusky strand of Death inwoven here

With dear Love's tie, makes Love himself more



Is that enchanted moan only the swell

Of the long waves that roll in yonder bay?

And hark the clock within, the silver knell
Of twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white,
And died to live, long as my pulses play;

But now by this my love has closed her sight
And given false death her hand, and stol'n away
To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell
Among the fragments of the golden day.

May nothing there her maiden grace affright!
Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy spell.
My bride to be, my evermore delight,

My own heart's heart and ownest own, farewell.
It is but for a little space I go :

And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell
Beat to the noiseless music of the night!

Has our whole earth gone nearer to the glow

Of your soft splendours that you look so bright ? I have climb'd nearer out of lonely Hell.

Beat, happy stars, timing with things below,

Beat with my

heart more blest than heart can tell,

Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe

That seems to draw-but it shall not be so:

Let all be well, be well.



STRANGE, that I felt so gay,
Strange, that I tried to-day

To beguile her melancholy;

The Sultan, as we name him,— She did not wish to blame himBut he vext her and perplext her With his worldly talk and folly : Was it gentle to reprove her

For stealing out of view

From a little lazy lover

Who but claims her as his due ?

Or for chilling his caresses

By the coldness of her manners,

Nay, the plainness of her dresses?

Now I know her but in two,

Nor can pronounce upon it

If one should ask me whether

The habit, hat, and feather,

Or the frock and gipsy bonnet
Be the neater and completer;

For nothing can be sweeter

Than maiden Maud in either.


But to morrow, if we live,

Our ponderous squire will give

A grand political dinner

To half the squirelings near;

And Maud will wear her jewels,

And the bird of prey will hover,

And the titmouse hope to win her

With his chirrup at her ear.


A grand political dinner
To the men of many acres,

A gathering of the Tory,

A dinner and then a dance

For the maids and marriage-makers,

And every eye but mine will glance

At Maud in all her glory.


For I am not invited,

But, with the Sultan's pardon,

I am all as well delighted,

For I know her own rose-garden,

And mean to linger in it

Till the dancing will be over;

And then, oh then, come out to me

For a minute, but for a minute,

Come out to your own true lover,

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