Night comes, world-jewelled, as my bride should be.
The stars rush forth in myriads as to wage
War with the lines of Darkness; and the moon,
Pale ghost of Night, comes haunting the cold earth
After the sun’s red sea-death⁠—quietless.
Immortal Night! I love thee. Thou and I
Are of one seed⁠—the eldest blood of God.
He makes; we mar together all things⁠—all
But our own selves. Love makes thee cold and tremble,
And me all fire. Do off that starry robe;
Catch me up to thee. Let us love, and die,
And weld our souls together, Night! But here
Cometh mine earthly. My Elissa! welcome.

Is’t not a lovely, nay, a heavenly eve?

Thy presence only makes it so to me.
The moments thou art with me are like stars
Peering through my dark life.

Nay, speak not so,
Or I shall weep, and thou wilt turn away
From woman’s tears: yet are they woman’s wealth.

Then keep thy treasures, lady! I would not have
The world, if prized at one sad tear of thine.
One tear of beauty can outweigh a world
Even of sin and sorrow, heavy as this;
But beauty cannot sin and should not weep,
For she is mortal. Oh! let deathless things
Alone weep. Why should aught that dies be sad?

The noble mind is oft too generous,
And, by protecting, weakens lesser ones;
And tears must come of feeling though they quench
As oft the light which love lit in the eye.

And thy love ever hangs about my heart
Like the pure pearl-wreath which enrings thy brow.
I meant not to be mournful. Tel me, now,
How thou hast passed the hours since last we met?

I have, stayed the livelong day within this bower;
It was here that thou did promise me to come⁠—
Watching from wanton morn to repentant eve,
The self-same roses ope and close; untired,
Listening the same hirds’ first and latest songs⁠—
And still thou camest not. To the mind which waits
Upon one hour the others are but slaves.
The week hath but one day⁠—the day one hour⁠—
That hour of the heart⁠—that lord of time.

Sweet one! I raced with light and passed the laggard
To meet thee⁠—or, I mean I could have done⁠—
Yea, have outsped the very dart of Death⁠—
Se much I sought; and were I living light
From God, with leave to range the world, and choose
Another brow than His whereon to beam⁠—
To mark what even an angel could but covet⁠—
A something lovelier than Heaven’s loveliness⁠—
To thee I straight would dart unheeding all
The lives of other worlds, even those who name
Themselves thy kind; for oft my mind o’ersoars
The stars; and pondering upon what may be
Of their chief lording natures, man’s seems worst⁠—
The darkest, meanest, which, through all these worlds,
Drags what is deathless, may be, down to dust.

Speak not so bitterly of human kind;
I know that thou dost love it. Hast not heard
Of those great spirits, who, the greater grow,
The better we are able them to prize?
Great minds can never cease; yet have they not
A separate estate of deathlessness:
The future is a remnant of their life:
Our time is part of theirs, not theirs of ours:
They know the thoughts of ages long before.
It is not the weak mind feels the great mind’s might;
None but the great can test it. Does the oak
Or reed feel the strong storm most? Oh! unsay
What thou hast said of man; nor deem me wrong.
Mind cannot mind despise⁠—it is itself.
Mind must love mind: the great and good are friends;
And he is but half great who is not good.
And, oh! humanity is the fairest flower
Blooming in earthly breasts; so sweet and pure,
That it might freshen even the fadeless wreaths
Twined round the golden harps of those in Heaven.

For thy sake I will love even man, or aught.
Spirit were I, and a mere mortal thou,
For thy sake I would even seek to die;
That, dead, or living, I might still be with thee.
But no! I’ll deem thee deathless⁠—mind and make,
And worthier of some spirit’s love than mine;
Yea, of the first-born of God’s sons, could he
In that sweet shade thy beauty casts o’er all,
One moment lay and cool his burning soul;
Or might the ark of his wide flood-like woe
But rest upon that mount of peace and bliss⁠—
Thy heart inbosomed in all beauteousness.
Nay, lady! shrink not. Thinkest thou I am he?

Thou art too noble, far. I oft have wished,
Ere I knew thee, I had some spirit’s love;
But thou art more like what I sought than man,
And a forbidden quest, it seems; for thou
Hast more of awe than love about thee, like
The mystery of dreams which we can feel,
But cannot touch.

Nay, think not so! It is wrong.
Come, let us sit in this thy favourite bower,
And I win hear thee sing. I love that voice,
Dipping more softly on the subject ear
Than that calm kiss the willow gives the wave⁠—
A soft rich tone, a rainbow of sweet sounds,
Just spanning the soothed sense. Come, nay me not.

Do thou lead out some lay; I’ll follow thine.

Well, I agree. It will spare me much of shame
In coming after thee. My song is said
Of Lucifer the star. See there he shines! Sings.

I am Lucifer, the star:
Oh! think on me,
As I lighten from afar
The Heavens and thee!
In town, or tower,
Or this fair bower,
Oh! think on me;
Though a wandering star,
As the loveliest are,
I love but thee.

Lady! When I brightest beam,
Love! look on me!
I am not what I may seem
To the world or thee;
But fain would love
With thee above,
Where thou wilt be.
But if love be a dream,
As the world doth deem,
What is’t to me?

Could we but deem the stars had hearts, and loved,
They would seem happier, holier, even than now;
And ah! why not? they are so beautiful;
And love is part and union in itself
Of all that is in nature brilliant, pure⁠—
Of all in feeling sacred and sublime.
Surely the stars are images of love:
The sunbeam and the starbeam doth bring love.
The sky, the sea, the rainbow, and the stream
And dark blue hill, where all the loveliness
Of earth and Heaven, in sweet extatic strife,
Seem mingling hues which might immortal be,
If length of life by height of beauty went:
All seem but made for love⁠—love made for all:
We do become all heart with those we love:
It is nature’s self⁠—it is everywhere⁠—it is here.

To me there is but one place in the world,
And that where thou art; for where’er I be,
Thy love doth seek its way into my heart,
As will a bird into her secret nest:
Then sit and sing; sweet wing of beauty, sing.

Bright one! who dwellest in the happy skies,
Rejoicing in thy light as does the brave,
In his keen flashing sword, and his strong arm’s
Swift swoop, canst thou, from among the sons of men,
Single out those who love thee as do I
Thee from thy fellow glories? If so, star,
Turn hither thy bright front; I love thee, friend.
Thou hast no deeds of darkness. All thou dost
Is to us light and beauty: yea, thou art
A globe all glory; thou who at the first
Didst answer to the angels which in Heaven
Sang the bright birth of earth, and even now,
As star by tar is born, dost sing the same
With countless hosts in infinite delight,
Be unto me a moment! Write thy bright
Light on my heart before the sun shall rise
And vanquish sight. Thou art the prophecy
Of light which He fulfils. Speak, shining star,
Drop from thy golden lips the truths of Heaven;
First of all stars and favourite of the skies,
Apostle of the sun⁠—thou upon whom
His mantle resteth⁠—speak, prophetic beauty!
Speak, shining star out of the heights of Heaven,
Beautiful being, speak to God for man!
Is it because of beauty thou wast chosen
To be the sign of sin? For surely sin
Must be surpassing lovely when for her
Men forfeit God’s reward of deathless bliss
And life divine; or, is it that such beauty,
Sometimes, before the truth, and sometimes after,
As is a moral or a prophecy,
Is ever warning? Why wast thou accorded
To the great Evil? Is it because thou art
Of all the sun’s bright servants nearest earth?
And shall we then forget that Christ hath said
He is thyself, the light-bringer of Heaven?
Star of the morning! unto us thou art
The presage of a day of power. Like thee
Let us rejoice in life, then, and proclaim
A glory coming greater than our own.
All ages are but stars to that which comes,
Sunlike. Oh! speak, star! Lift thou up thy voice
Out of yon radiant ranks, and I on earth,
As thou in Heaven, will bless the Lord God ever.
Hear, Lucifer, thou star! I answer thee. Sings.

Oh! ask me not to look and love,
But bid me worship thee;
For thou art earthly things above,
As far as angels be:
Then whether in the eve or morn
Thou dost the maiden skies adorn,
Oh! let me worship thee!

I am but as this drop of dew;
Oh! let me worship thee!
Thy light, thy strength, is ever new,
Even as the angels’ be:
And as this dew-drop, till it dies,
Bosoms the golden stars and skies,
Oh! let me worship thee!

But, dearest, why that dark look?

Let it not
Cloud thine even with its shadow: but the ground
Of all great thoughts is sadness; and I mused
Upon past happiness. Well⁠—be it past!
Did Lucifer, as I do, gaze on thee,
The flame of woe would flicker in his breast,
And straight die out⁠—the brightness of thy beauty
Quenching it as the sun doth earthly fire.

Nay, look not on me so intensely sad.

Forgive me: it was an agony of bliss.
I love thee, and am full of happiness.
My bosom bounds beneath thy smile as doth
The sea’s unto the moon, his mighty mistress;
Lying and looking up to her, and saying⁠—
Lovely! lovely! lovely! lady of the Heavens!
Oh! when the thoughts of other joyous days⁠—
Perchance, if such may be, of happier times⁠—
Are falling gently on the memory
Like autumn leaves distained with dusky gold,
Yet softly as a snowflake; and the smile
Of kindliness, like thine, is beaming on me⁠—
Oh! pardon, if I lose myself, nor know
Whether I be with Heaven or thee.

Use not
Such ardent phrase, nor mix the claim of aught
On earth with thoughts more than with hopes of Heaven.

Hopes, lady! I have none.

Thou must have. All
Have hopes, however wretched they may be,
Or blest. It is hope which lifts the lark so high⁠—
Hope of a lighter air and bluer sky:
And the poor hack which drops down on the flints⁠—
Upon whose eye the dust is settling⁠—
He hopes to die. No being is which hath
Not love and hope.

Yes⁠—one! The ancient Ill,
Dwelling and damned through all which is; that spirit
Whose heart is hate⁠—who is the foe of God⁠—
The foe of all.

How knowest thou such doth live?
Love is the happy privilege of mind⁠—
Love is the reason of all living things.
A Trinity there seems of principles,
Which represent and rule created life⁠—
The love of self, our fellows, and our God.
In all throughout one common feeling reigns:
Each doth maintain and is maintained by the other;
All are compatible⁠—all needful; one
To life⁠—to virtue one⁠—and one to bliss;
Which thus together make the power, the end,
And the perfection of created Being.
From these three principles doth every deed,
Desire, and will, and reasoning, good or bad, come;
To these they all determine⁠—sum and scheme:
The three are one in centre and in round;
Wrapping the world of life as do the skies
Our world. Hail! air of love by which we live!
How sweet, how fragrant! Spirit, though unseen⁠—
Void of gross sign⁠—is scarce a simple essence,
Immortal, immaterial, though it be.
One only simple essence liveth⁠—God⁠—
Creator, uncreate. The brutes beneath,
The angels high above us, with ourselves,
Are but compounded things of mind and form.
In all things animate is therefore cored
An elemental sameness of existence;
For God, being Love, in love created all,
As He contains the whole, and penetrates.
Seraphs love God, and angels love the good:
We love each other; and these lower lives,
Which walk the earth in thousand diverse shapes,
According to their reason, love us too:
The most intelligent affect us most.
Nay, man’s chief wisdom’s love⁠—the love of God.
The new religion⁠—final perfect, pure⁠—
Was that of Christ and love. His great command⁠—
His all-sufficing precept⁠—was’t not love?
Truly to love ourselves we must love God⁠—
To love God we must all His creatures love⁠—
To love His creatures, both ourselves and Him.
Thus love is all that’s wise, fair, good, and happy.

How knowest thou God doth live? Why did He not,
With that creating hand which sprinkled stars
On space’s bosom, bidding her breathe and wake
From the long death-like trance in which she lay⁠—
With that same hand which scattered o’er the sky,
As this small dust I strew upon the wind,
Yon countless orbs, aye fixing each on Him
Its flaming eye, which winks and blenches oft
Beneath His glance⁠—with the finger of that hand
Which spangled o’er infinity with suns,
And wrapped it round about Him as a robe⁠—
Why did He not write out his own great name
In spheres of fire, that Heaven might alway tell
To every creature, God? If not, then why
Should I believe when I behold around me
Nought scarce, save ill and woe?

God surely lives!
Without God all things are in tunnel darkness.
Let there be God, and all are sun⁠—all God.
And to the just soul, in a future state,
Defect’s dark mist, thick-spreading o’er this vale,
Shall dim the eye no more, nor bound survey;
And evil, now which boweth being down
As dew the grass, shall only fit all life
For fresher growth and for intenser day,
Where God shall dry all tears as the sun dew.

Oh! lady, I am wretched.

Say not so.
With thee I could not deem myself unhappy.
Hark to the sea! It sounds like the near hum
Of a great city.

Say, the city earth;
For such these orbs are in the realms of space.

I dreamed once that the night came down to me;
In figure, oh! too like thine own for truth,
And looked into me with his thousand eyes,
And that made me unhappy; but it passed,
And I half wished it back. Mind hath its earth
And Heaven. The many petty common thoughts
On which we daily tread, as it were, make one,
And above which few look; the other is
That high and welkin-like infinity⁠—
The brighter, upper half of the mind’s world,
Thick with great sun-like and constellate thoughts;
And in the night of mind, which is our sleep,
These thoughts shine out in dreams. Dreams double life;
They are the heart’s bright shadow on life’s flood;
And even the step from death to deathlessness⁠—
From this earth’s gross existence unto Heaven⁠—
Can scarce be more than from the harsh hot day
To sleep’s soft scenes, the moonlight of the mind.
The wave is never weary of the wind,
But in mountainous playfulness leaps to it
Always; but mind gets weary of the world,
And glooms itself in sleep, like a sweet smile,
Line by line, settling into proper sadness;
For sleep seems part of our immortality:
And why should any thing that dies be sad?
Last night I dreamed I walked within a hall⁠—
The inside of the world. Long shroud-like lights
Lit up its lift-like dome and pale wide walls,
Horizon-like; and every one was there:
It was the house of Death, and Death was there.
We could not see him, but he was a feeling:
We knew he was around us⁠—heard us⁠—eyed us;
But where wast thou? I never met thee once.
And all was still as nothing; or as God,
Deep judging, when the thought of making first
Quickened and stirred within Him; and He made
All Heaven at one thought as at a glance.
Noise was there none; and yet there was a sound
Which seemed to be half like silence, half like sound.
All crept about still as the cold wet worms,
Which slid among our feet, we could not scape from.
Bound me were ruined fragments of dead gods⁠—
Those shadows of the mystery of One⁠—
And the red worms, too, flourished over these,
For marble is a shadow weighed with mind;
Each being, as men of old believed, distinct
In form, and place, and power. But Oh! not all
The gathered gods of Eld could shine like ours,
No more than all yon stars could make a sun.
But truly then men lived in moral night,
’Neath a dim starlight of religious truth.
I felt my spirit’s spring gush out more clear,
Gazing on these: they beautified my mind
As rocks and flowers reflected do a well.
Mind makes itself like that it lives amidst,
And on; and thus, among dreams, imaginings,
And scenes of awe, and purity, and power,
Grows sternly sweet and calm⁠—all beautiful
With god-like coldness and unconsciousness
Of mortal passion, mental toil; until,
Like to the marble model of a god,
It doth assume a firm and dazzling form,
Scarcely less incorruptible than that
It emblems: and so grew, methought, my mind.
Matter hath many qualities; mind, one:
It is irresistible: pure power⁠—pure god.
While wandering on I met what seemed myself:
Was it not strange that we should meet, and there?
But all is strange in dreaming, as in death,
And waking, as in life: nought is not strange.
Methought that I was happy, because dead.
All hurried to and fro; and many cried
To each other⁠—Can I do thee any good?
But no one heeded: nothing could avail:
The world was one great grave. I looked, and saw
Time on his two great wings⁠—one, night⁠—one, day⁠—
Fly, moth-like, right into the flickering sun;
So that the sun went out, and they both perished.
And one gat up and spake⁠—a holy man⁠—
Exhorting them; but each and all cried out⁠—
Go to!⁠—it helps not⁠—means not: we are dead.
Death spake no word methought, but me he made
Speak for him; and I dreamed that I was Death;
Then, that Death only lived: all things were mixed;
Up and down shooting, like the brain’s fierce dance
In a delirium, when we are apt to die.
Hell is my heir; what kin to me is Heaven?
Bring out your hearts before me. Give your limbs
To whom ye list or love. My son, Decay,
Will take them: give them him. I want your hearts,
That I may take them up to God. There came
These words among us, but we knew not whence;
It was as if the air spake. And there rose
Out of the earth a giant thing, all earth;
His eye was earthy, and his arm was earthy:
He had no heart. He but said, I am Decay;
And, as he spake, he crumbled into earth,
And the was nothing of him. But we all
Lifted our faces up at the word, God,
And spied a dark star high above in the midst
Of others, numberless as are the dead.
And all plucked out their hearts, and held them in
Their right hands. Many tried to pick out specks
And stains, but could not: each gave up his heart.
And something⁠—all things⁠—nothing⁠—it was Death,
Said, as before, from air⁠—Let us to God!
And straight we rose, leaving behind the raw
Worms and dead gods, all of us⁠—soared and soared
Right upwards, till the star I told thee of
Looked like a moon⁠—the moon became a sun:
The sun⁠—there came a hand between the sun and us,
And its five fingers made five nights in air.
God tore the glory from the sun’s broad brow,
And flung the flaming scalp off flat to Hell.
I saw Him do it; and it passed close by us.
And then I heard a long, cold, skeleton scream,
Like a trumpet whining through a catacomb,
Which made the sides of that great grave shake in.
I saw the world and vision of the dead
Dim itself off⁠—and all was life! I woke,
And felt the high sun blazoning on my brow
His own almighty mockery of woe,
And fierce and infinite laugh at things which cease.
Hell hath its light⁠—and Heaven; he burns with both.
And my dream broke, like life from the last limb⁠—
Quivering; so loth I felt to let it go,
Just as I thought I had caught sight of Heaven.
It came to nought, as dreams of Heaven on earth
Do always.

It is time we part again.

Farewell, then, gentle stars! To-night, farewell!
For we all part at once. It is thus the bright
Visions and joys of youth break up⁠—but they
For ever. When ye shine again I will
Be with ye; for I love ye next to him.
To all, adieu! When shall I see thee next?

Lady, I know not.

Say!

Never! perchance.

There is but one immortal in the world
Who need say⁠—never!

What if I were he?

But thou art not he; and thou shalt not say it.
Stars vise and set⁠—rise, set, and rise again
In their sublime-like beauty through all time.
Why should not we, too, ever meet, like them?

I see no beauty⁠—feel no love⁠—all things
Are unlovely.

O earth! be deaf; and Heaven!
Shut thy blue eye. He doth blaspheme the world.
Dost not love me?

Love thee? Ay! Earth and Heaven
Together could not make a love like mine.

When wilt thou come again? To-morrow?

Well.
And then I cross yon sea ere I return;
For I have matters in another land.
Fear not.

When will our parting days be over?

Oh! soon⁠—soon! Think of me love, on the waters!
Be happy! and, for me, I love few things more
Than at night to ride upon the broad-backed billow,
Seaing along and plunging on his precipitous path;
While the red moon is westering low away,
And the mad waves are fighting for the stars,
Like men for⁠—what they know not.

Scorner!

Saint!

The world hath much that’s great; and but one sea,
Which is her spirit; and to her it stands
As the mad monarch passion to the heart⁠—
Fathomless, overwhelming, which receives
The rivers of all feeling; in whose depths
Lie wrecked the riches of all nature. God,
When He did make thee, moved upon thee then,
And left His impress there, the same even now
As when thy last wave leapt from Chaos.⁠—Hark!
Nay, there is some one coming.

Entering.

Thanks! and where is he?

Yonder. He would not
Come up so far as this.

Who is it?

I know not
Who he may be, or what; but I can guess.

Remain a moment, love, till I return.

Nay⁠—let me leave!

Not yet: do not dislike him.
He is a friend, and⁠—more another time.

I am sorry, lady, to have caused this parting.
I fear I am unwelcome.

We were parting.

Then am I doubly sorry; for I know
It is the saddest and the sacredest
Moment of all with those who love.

He is coming!
So I forgive thee.

I must leave thee, love:
I know not for how long; it rests with thee
If it seem long at all. Eternity
Might pass, and I not know it in thy love.

If to believe that I do love thee always
May make time fly the fleeter⁠—

I’ll believe it⁠—
Trust me. I leave this lady in thy charge.

Be kind⁠—wait on her⁠—may he, love?

Thou knowest. I receive him as thy friend
Whenever he come.

I ask no higher title
Than friend of the lovely and the generous.

Farewell!

Lady! I will not forget my trust.
Apart. The breeze which curls the lake’s bright lip but lifts
A purer, deeper, water to the light;
The ruffling of the wild bird’s wing but wakes
A warmer beauty and a downier depth.
That startled shrink, that faintest blossom-blush
Of constancy alarmed!⁠—Love! if thou hast
One weapon in that shining armoury,
The quiver on thy shoulder, where thou keep’st
Each arrowy eye-beam feathered with a sigh;⁠—
If from that bow, shaped so like Beauty’s lip
Strung with a string of pearls, thou wilt twang forth
Bat one dart, fair into the mark I mean⁠—
Do it, and I will worship thee for ever:
Yea, I will give thee glory and a name
Known, sunlike, in all nations. Heart, be still!

This parting over⁠—

Yes, this one⁠—and then?

Why, then another, may be.

No⁠—no more.
I’ll be unhappy if thou tell’st me so.

Well, then⁠—no more.

But when wilt thou come back?

Almost before thou wishest. He will know.

I shall be always asking him. Farewell! Goes.

Shine on, ye stars! and light her to her rest;
Scarce are ye worthy for her handmaidens.
Why, Hell would laugh to learn I had been in love.
I have affairs in Hell. Wilt go with me?

Yes, in a month or two:⁠—not just this minute.

I shall be there and back again ere then.

Meanwhile I can amuse myself: so, go!
But sometime I would fain behold thy home,
And pass the gates of fire.

And so thou shalt.
My home is everywhere where spirit is.
All things are as I meant them. Fare thee well. Goes.

The strongest passion which I have is honour:
I would I had none: it is in my way.