“Thy pallid droop,” cried I, “but more than all,
Thy lonely sweetness takes my soul in thrall,
O Seraph Lily Blanch! so stately tall: 
By violets adored, regarded by the rose,
Well loved by every gentle flower that blows!”

My Lady dovelike to the lily went,
Took in curved palms a cup, and forward leant,
Deep draining to the gold its dreamy scent. 
I see her now, pale beauty, as she bending stands,
The wind-worn blossom resting in her hands!

Then slowly rising, she in gazing trance
Affrayed, long pored on vacancy.  A glance
Of chilly splendour tinged her countenance
And told the saddened truth, that stress of blighting weather,
Had made her lilies and My Lady droop together.

IX.  TOLLING BELL.

“Weak, but her spirits good,” the letter said: 
A bell was tolling, while these words I read,
A dull sepulchral summons for the dead. 
   Fear grew in every pace I strode
   Hurrying on that endless road.

And when I reached the house a terror came
That wrought in me a hidden sense of blame,
And entering I scarce dared to speak her name,
   Who lay, sweet singer, warbling low
   Rhymes I made her long ago.

   “The sun exhales the morning dew,
      The dew returns again
      At eve refreshing rain: 
   The forest flowers bloom bravely new,
      They drooping fade and die,
      The seeds that in them lie
   Will blossom as the others blew.”

   “And ever rove among the flowers
      Bright children who ere long
      Are men and women strong: 
   When on they pass through sun and showers,
      And glancing sideways watch
      Their children run to catch
   A rainbow with the laughing Hours.”

I watched in awkward wonder for a time
As there she listless lay and sang my rhyme,
Wrapped up in fabrics of an Indian clime
   She seemed a Bird of Paradise
   Languid from the traversed skies.

A dawn-bright snowy peak her smile . . .  Strange I
Should dawdle near her grace admiringly,
When love alarmed and challenged sympathy,
   Announced in chills of creeping fear
   Danger surely threatening near.

I shrank from searching the abyss I felt
Yawned by; whose verge voluptuous blossoms belt
With dazzling hues:—­she speaks!  I fall and melt,
   One sacred moment drawn to rest,
   Deeply weeping in her breast: 

Within the throbbing treasure wept?  But brief
Those loosening tears of blessed deep relief,
That won triumphant ransom from my grief,
   While loving words and comfort she
   Breathed in angel tones to me.

Our visions met, when pityingly she flung
Her passionate arms about me, kissing clung,
Close kisses, stifling kisses; till each wrung,
   With welded mouths, the other’s bliss
   Out in one long sighing kiss.