...

8. 
I bore it to my chamber, and I planted
It in a vase full of the lightest mould;
The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted
Fell through the window-panes, disrobed of cold,
Upon its leaves and flowers; the stars which panted 55
In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled
Over the horizon’s wave, with looks of light
Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.

9. 
The mitigated influences of air
And light revived the plant, and from it grew 60
Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,
Full as a cup with the vine’s burning dew,
O’erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere
Of vital warmth enfolded it anew,
And every impulse sent to every part
The unbeheld pulsations of its heart. 65

10. 
Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
Even if the air and sun had smiled not on it;
For one wept o’er it all the winter long
Tears pure as Heaven’s rain, which fell upon it 70
Hour after hour; for sounds of softest song
Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it
To leave the gentle lips on which it slept,
Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.

11. 
Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers 75
On which he wept, the while the savage storm
Waked by the darkest of December’s hours
Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm;
The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers,
The fish were frozen in the pools, the form 80
Of every summer plant was dead
Whilst this....

...

NOTES:  7 lorn Boscombe manuscript; poor edition 1824. 23 So Boscombe manuscript; Dim object of soul’s idolatry edition 1824. 24 star Boscombe manuscript; wanting edition 1824. 38 grass fresh Boscombe manuscript; fresh grass edition 1824. 46 like Boscombe manuscript; as edition 1824. 68 air and sun Boscombe manuscript; sun and air edition 1824.

***

THE MAGNETIC LADY TO HER PATIENT.

[Published by Medwin, “The Athenaeum”, August 11, 1832.  There is a copy amongst the Trelawny manuscripts.]

1. 
’Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain;
My hand is on thy brow,
My spirit on thy brain;
My pity on thy heart, poor friend;
And from my fingers flow 5
The powers of life, and like a sign,
Seal thee from thine hour of woe;
And brood on thee, but may not blend
With thine.

2. 
’Sleep, sleep on!  I love thee not; 10
But when I think that he
Who made and makes my lot
As full of flowers as thine of weeds,
Might have been lost like thee;
And that a hand which was not mine 15
Might then have charmed his agony
As I another’s—­my heart bleeds
For thine.