Thus let my heart against thy heart repose,
  Sigh forth its life in one delicious sigh,
  Then drink new life from out thy balmy breath;
  Thus in love’s languor let our eyelids close,
  And let our blended souls enchanted lie,
  And dream of joy beyond the gates of death.

XIX

THE DREAM

  Was it a dream, when, through the spirit’s gloom,
  I saw the yearning face of Beauty shine—­
  Soft in its human aspect, though divine,
  Pleading for human love, though armed with doom? 
  And was it but a dream, that faint perfume,
  Blent of loose tress and soft lips joined to mine,
  Those fair white arms that did my neck entwine,
  That neck’s sweet warmth, that smooth cheek’s floral bloom?

  Ah! was it true, or was it but a dream
  Of bliss that scarce to mortal hearts is given? 
  Ah! was it thou, Beloved, or some bright
  Phantom of thee that made thy presence seem,
  Rich with the warmth of Life, the light of Heaven,
  To hover o’er the realms where both unite?

XX

ETHEREAL BEAUTY

  Nay, it was thou, when the fair Evening Star
  Leaned on the purple bosom of the West;
  ‘Twas thou, when o’er the far hills’ frowning crest
  Fell the soft beams of Cynthia’s silv’ry car: 
  Thyself—­than stars and moonbeams fairer far—­
  A vision in ethereal beauty drest! 
  But, when thy head drooped flow’r-like on my breast,
  Then did no word our souls’ communion mar: 

  Love spake to love without a sign or glance,
  And heart to heart its inmost depth revealed
  In the deep thrilling silence of that trance,
  Till earth, and earthly being ceased to be,
  And our blent souls at that high altar kneeled
  Whence Love doth gaze upon Eternity!

XXI

A CROWN OF THORNS

  There was a crown of thorns upon the head
  Of Love, when he across my threshold came. 
  I knew the sign and did not ask his name,
  But took him to my heart, although he said,
  ’The soul’s dumb agonies, the tears unshed
  That sear the heart, th’ injustice and the blame
  Of the harsh world,—­God wills that I should claim
  Through these immortal Life when Hope is dead.’

  I took him to my heart and clasped him close. 
  E’en though his thorns did make my bosom bleed. 
  Then from the very core of pain arose
  A joy that seemed to be the utmost need
  Of my worn soul!  Love whispered, ’This the meed
  Of hearts that keep their faith amidst Love’s woes.’

XXII

TWO HEARTS IN ONE