.

And there I saw the bony brow of Hate;
Vile, vicious sneers, the eyes of shriveled Scorn
Among the writhing briers; each a thorn
Of cavernous hunger barbed with burning fate.

They, thro' her face-drawn locks of raveled dark,
Stung a stark horror; and I felt my heart
Freeze, wedged with ice, to dullness part by part,
And knew Hate coiled toward me yet stood stark--

Fell; seeing on the happy, happy hills,
Above that den of dust and thorny thirst,
The bastioned walls of Love in glory burst,
Built by sweet glades of Poesy and rills.

O Life, I had not life enough to strive!
O Hope, I had not hope enough to dream!
Death drew me to him and to sigh did seem,
"Love? Love?--thou canst not reach her and yet live!

"For sorrow, joy, and hate, and scorn are bound
About thee, girdling so, thy lips are dumb;
And Fame, ah Fame! her towers are but a tomb--
Star-set on dwindling heights of starry ground.

"And thou art done and being done must die,
Endeavor being dead and energy
Slain, a wild bird that beat bars to be free,
Despairing perished, finding life a lie."

VI.

If thou wouldst know the Beautiful that breathes
Consanguined with young Earth, go seek!--but seek
No sighing Shadows with dead hemlock-wreaths,
No sleepy Sorrows whose wan eyes are weak
With vanished vigils, Melancholy made,
Forlorn, in lands of sin and saddening shade;
No tearful Angers torn of truthless Love,
Who stab their own hearts to dull daggers' hilts
For vengeance sweet; no miser Moods that fade
In owlet towers. Such it springs above,
And buds on morning meads no flower that wilts.

If thou dost seek the Beautiful, beware!
Lest thou discover her, nor know 'tis she;
And she enslave thee evermore, and there
Reward thee with but kingliest beggary:
Make thine the robust red her cheek that stings;
The kiss-sweet odor, thine, her wild breath brings;
Make thine the broad bloom of her crowned brow;
The hearts of light that ardor her proud eyes;
That melody,--which is herself,--that sings
The poem of her presence and the vow,
That stars exalts and mortals deifies.

Lone art thou then, lone as the lone first star
Kindling pale beauty o'er the mournful wave;
Lost to all happiness save searching far
Thro' lands of Life where Death hath delved no grave:
Lost,--even as I,--a devotee to her,
Poor