To become childless—­Well-a-well, go by! 
Is there no grave?  The quiet sea is nigh,
And I will bury her below the moon;
It may be but a trance or midnight swoon,
And she may wake.  Wake, ladye! ha! methought
It was like her—­Like her! and is it not? 
My angel girl! my brain, my stricken brain!—­
I know thee now!—­I know myself again.”

    He flings him on the ladye, and anon,
    With loathly shudder, from that wither’d one
    Hath torn him back.  “Oh me! no more—­no more! 
    Thou virgin mother!  Is the dream not o’er,
    That I have dreamt, but I must dream again
    For moons together, till this weary brain
    Become distemper’d as the winter sea? 
    Good father! give me blessing; let it be
    Upon me as the dew upon the moss. 
    Oh me! but I have made the holy cross
    A curse, and not a blessing! let me kiss
    The sacred symbol; for, by this—­by this! 
    I sware, and sware again, as now I will—­
    Thou Heaven! if there be bounty in thee still,
    If thou wilt hear, and minister, and bring
    The light of comfort on some angel wing
    To one that lieth lone, do—­do it now;
    By all the stars that open on thy brow
    Like silver flowers! and by the herald moon
    That listeth to be forth at nightly noon,
    Jousting the clouds, I swear! and be it true,
    As I have perjured me, that I renew
    Allegiance to thy God, and bind me o’er
    To this same penance, I have done before! 
    That night and day I watch, as I have been
    Long watching, o’er the partner of my sin! 
    That I taste never the delight of food,
    But these wild shell-fish, that may make the mood
    Of madness stronger, till it grapple Death—­
    Despair—­Eternity!”

                        He saith, he saith,
    And, on the jaundiced bosom of the corse,
    Lieth all frenzied; one would see Remorse,
    And hopeless Love, and Hatred, struggling there,
    And Lunacy, that lightens up Despair,
    And makes a gladness out of agony. 
    Pale phantom!  I would fear and worship thee,
    That hast the soul at will, and gives it play,
    Amid the wildest fancies far away;
    That thronest Reason, on some wizard throne
    Of fairy land, within the milky zone,—­
    Some spectre star, that glittereth beyond
    The glorious galaxies of diamond.

    Beautiful Lunacy! that shapest flight
    For love to blessed bowers of delight,
    And buildest holy monarchies within
    The fancy, till the very heart is queen
    Of all her golden wishes.  Lunacy! 
    Thou empress of the passions! though they be
    A sister group of wild, unearthly forms,
    Like lightnings playing in their home of storms! 
    I see thee, striking at the silver strings
    Of the pure heart, and holy music springs
    Before thy touch, in many a solemn strain,
    Like that of sea-waves rolling from the main!