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She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
All day within the dreamy house
The doors upon their hinges creaked; The blue fly sung i' the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about.
Old faces glimmered through the doors,
He cometh not," she said;
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound Her sense; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western bower. Then, said she, "lam very dreary,
He will not come," she said;She wept, "I am aweary, aweary, O God! that I were dead!"
Clear-headed friend, whose joyful scorn, Edged with sharp laughter, cuts atwain The knots that tangle human creeds, The wounding cords that bind and strain
The heart until it bleeds,
Roof not a glance so keen as thine:
Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit;
With shrilling shafts of subtle wit.
Nor martyr-flames nor trenchant swords
Shot through and through with cunning words.
Weak Truth, a-leaning on her crutch,
Wan, wasted Truth, in her utmost need,
Thy kingly intellect shall feed,
Those writhed limbs of lightning speed;
Until the breaking of the light,
Past Yabbok brook the livelong night,
Thou art not steeped in golden languors,
Ever varying Madeline.
Delicious spites, and darling angers,
Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow
Light-glooming over eyes divine,
Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine,
Ever varying Madeline.
; All the mystery is thine;Smiling, frowning, evermore, Thou art perfect in love-lore, Ever varying Madeline.
A subtle, sudden flame,
O'erflows thy calmer glances, And o'er black brows drops down A sudden-curved frown:But when I turn away, Thou, willing me to stay,
Wooest not, nor vainly wranglest, But, looking fixedly the while, All my bounding heart entanglest
In a golden-netted smile; Then in madness and in bliss, If my lips should dare to kiss
Thy taper fingers amorously,
SONG. —THE OWL.
When cats run home and light is come,
And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round;Alone and warming his five wits The white owl in the belfry sits.
When merry milkmaids click the latch,
And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five wits The white owl in the belfry sits.
TO THE SAME,
Thy tuwhits are lulled, I wot,
That her voice, untuneful grown,
I would mock thy chant anew;
But I cannot mimic it; Not a whit of thy tuwhoo, Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, Thee to woo to thy tuwhit, With a lengthened loud halloo, Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o.
OP THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.
When the breeze of a joyful dawn blew free In the silken sail of infancy, The tide of time flowed back with me,
The forward-flowing tide of time;
For it was in the golden prime