84 With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my colour, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life. I die with my delight, before I hear what I would hear from thee; Yet tell my name again to me, I would be dying evermore, So dying ever, Eleänore. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. I SEE the wealthy miller yet, And who that knew him could forget The busy wrinkles round his eyes ? The slow wise smile that, round about In yonder chair I see him sit, Three fingers round the old silver cup--I see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest-gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole, His memory scarce can make me sad. Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: Have I not found a happy earth ? I least should breathe a thought of pain. So sweet it seems with thee to walk, Across the walnuts and the wine To be the long and listless boy Have lived and loved alone so long, By some wild skylark's matin song. And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan; But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own. For scarce my life with fancy play'd Before I dream'd that pleasant dream Still hither thither idly sway'd Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I lean'd to hear In crystal eddies glance and poise, But, Alice, what an hour was that, A love-song I had somewhere read, With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song, That went and came a thousand times. Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood For you remember, you had set, And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above They met with two so full and brightSuch eyes! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light. |