EARL OF LYTTON

One draught of what I shall not taste again

Save when my brain with thy dark wine is brimm'd,

One draught ! and then straight onward, spite of pain, And spite of all things changed, with gaze undimm'd,

Love's footsteps thro* the waning Past to explore Undaunted ; and to carve in the wan light Of Hope's last outposts, on Song's utmost height,

The sad resemblance of an hour or more.

Midnight, and Jove, and youth, and Italy !

Love in the land where love most lovely seems ! Land of my love, tho' I be far from thee,

Lend, for love's sake, the light of thy moonbeams, The spirit of thy cypress-groves and all

Thy dark-eyed beauty for a little while

To my desire. Yet once more let her smile Fall o'er me: o'er me let her long hair fall. . . .

Under the blessed darkness unreproved

We were alone, in that best hour of time Which first reveal'd to us how much we loved,

'Neath the thick starlight. The young night sublime Hung trembling o'er us. At her feet I knelt,

And gazed up from her feet into her eyes.

Her face was bow'd : we breathed each other's sighs : We did not speak : not move : we look'd : we felt.

The night said not a word. The breeze was dead.

The leaf lay without whispering on the tree, As I lay at her feet. Droop'd was her head :

One hand in mine : and one still pensively Went wandering through my hair. We were together.

How ? Where ? What matter ? Somewhere in a dream,

Drifting, slow drifting down a wizard stream : Whither ? Together : then what matter whither ?

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