I see as if through dream-clouds,
    I hear from far away. 
The scorched air breathes its opiate,
    The drowsy fancies stay;

I have no hopes or longings,
    I scarce can feel your kiss,—­
For thought, and joy and worship,
    Another hour than this!

PICTURES.

The full-orbed Paschal moon; dark shadows flung
On the brown Lenten earth; tall spectral trees
Stand in their huge and naked strength erect,
And stretch wild arms towards the gleaming sky. 
A motionless girl-figure, face upraised
In the strong moonlight, cold and passionless.

* * * * *

A proud spring sunset; opal-tinted sky,
Save where the western purple, pale and faint
With longing for her fickle Love,—­content
Had merged herself into his burning red. 
A fair young maiden, clad in velvet robe
Of sombre green, stands in the golden glow,
One hand held up to shade her dazzled eyes,
A bunch of white Narcissus at her throat.

* * * * *

November’s day, dark, leaden, lowering,—­
Grey purple shadows fading on the hills;
Dreary and desolate the far expanse
And gloomy sameness of the open plain. 
A peasant woman, in white wimpled hood,
White vest, and scarlet petticoat, surveys
The meadow, with rough hands crossed on her breast.

* * * * *

A shining, shimmering, gracious, golden day;
The sated summer’s all-pervading hush;
Warm luscious tints, glowing in earth and sky. 
On a low mossy bank, a little child,
His golden curls twined in the reedy grass,
Clutching within his tear-stained feverish hands
The yellow blossoms of the Celandine,
Sobs out his heart in passionate childish grief.

EURYDICE.

Oh come, Eurydice! 
    The Stygian deeps are past
    Well-nigh; the light dawns fast. 
Oh come, Eurydice!

The gods have heard my song! 
    My love’s despairing cry
    Filled hell with melody,—­
And the gods heard my song.

I knew no life but thee;
    Persephone was moved;
    She, too, hath lived, hath loved;
She saw I lived for thee.

I may not look on thee,
    Such was the gods’ decree;—­
    Till sun and earth we see
No kiss, no smile for thee!

The way is rough, is hard;
    I cannot hear thy feet
    Swift following; speak, my Sweet,—­
Is the way rough and hard?

“Oh come, Eurydice!”
    I turn:  “our woe is o’er,
    I will not lose thee more!”
I cry:  “Eurydice!”

O father Hermes, help! 
    I see her fade away
    Back from the dawning ray;
Dear Father Hermes, help!

One swift look,—­all is lost! 
    Wild heaven-arousing cries
    Pierce to the dull dead skies;
My heaven, my all is lost!