TO MY SISTER.
55
So red, so rich, so like the opening rose
While yet the soft and early dew-drop blends
With its wild perfume; thy bewitching smile
Of strange, bright beauty, like a glance just caught
From the closed portals of the Eden clime;
Thy form, thy seraph form, that floats and glides
Upon the earth in dreamlike loveliness,
As 'twere the very spirit of a strain
Of sweet and wild Æolian melody
Made visible to mortal eyes; thy soft
And gentle voice, that through my spirit sends
Its thrill, like low and mournful music heard
O'er the still waters of the midnight deep—
All these seem stealing on my eye and ear,
And lingering with me in my lonely hours,
To fashion blessed dreams of thee and heaven
Within my glowing soul.
While yet the soft and early dew-drop blends
With its wild perfume; thy bewitching smile
Of strange, bright beauty, like a glance just caught
From the closed portals of the Eden clime;
Thy form, thy seraph form, that floats and glides
Upon the earth in dreamlike loveliness,
As 'twere the very spirit of a strain
Of sweet and wild Æolian melody
Made visible to mortal eyes; thy soft
And gentle voice, that through my spirit sends
Its thrill, like low and mournful music heard
O'er the still waters of the midnight deep—
All these seem stealing on my eye and ear,
And lingering with me in my lonely hours,
To fashion blessed dreams of thee and heaven
Within my glowing soul.
Thou, sister dear,
Art on the earth, not of it. Thy pure wing
Is here chained back from thy own native heaven.
Art on the earth, not of it. Thy pure wing
Is here chained back from thy own native heaven.
