284
L. E. L.'S LAST QUESTION.
But sit (among the rocks?) and listen for
The echo of their own love evermore—
"Do you think of me as I think of you?"
The echo of their own love evermore—
"Do you think of me as I think of you?"
Love-learned, she had sung of love and love,—
And, like a child, that, sleeping with dropt head
Upon the fairy-book he lately read,
Whatever household noises round him move,
Hears in his dream some elfin turbulence,—
Even so, suggestive to her inward sense,
All sounds of life assumed one tune of love.
And, like a child, that, sleeping with dropt head
Upon the fairy-book he lately read,
Whatever household noises round him move,
Hears in his dream some elfin turbulence,—
Even so, suggestive to her inward sense,
All sounds of life assumed one tune of love.
And when the glory of her dream withdrew,—
When nightly gestes and courtly pageantries
Were broken in her visionary eyes,
By tears the solemn seas attested true,—
Forgetting that sweet lute beside her hand,
She asked not,—Do you praise me, O my land?—
But,—"Think ye of me, friends, as I of you?"
When nightly gestes and courtly pageantries
Were broken in her visionary eyes,
By tears the solemn seas attested true,—
Forgetting that sweet lute beside her hand,
She asked not,—Do you praise me, O my land?—
But,—"Think ye of me, friends, as I of you?"
Her's was the hand that played for many a year
Love's silver phrase for England,—smooth and well!
Would God, her heart's more inward oracle
In that lone moment, might confirm her dear!
For when her questioned friends in agony
Made passionate response,—"We think of thee,"—
Her place was in the dust, too deep to hear.
Love's silver phrase for England,—smooth and well!
Would God, her heart's more inward oracle
In that lone moment, might confirm her dear!
For when her questioned friends in agony
Made passionate response,—"We think of thee,"—
Her place was in the dust, too deep to hear.
Could she not wait to catch their answering breath?
Was she content—content—with ocean's sound,
Which dashed its mocking infinite around
One thirsty for a little love?—beneath
Those stars, content—where last her song had gone,—
They, mute and cold in radiant life,—as soon
Their singer was to be, in darksome death?[1]
Was she content—content—with ocean's sound,
Which dashed its mocking infinite around
One thirsty for a little love?—beneath
Those stars, content—where last her song had gone,—
They, mute and cold in radiant life,—as soon
Their singer was to be, in darksome death?[1]
- ↑ Her lyric on the polar star, came home with her latest papers.
