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Last night my cheek was wetted with warm tears, Each worth a world. They fell from eyes divine. Last night a loving lip was pressed to mine,

And at its touch fled all the barren years ;

And softly couched upon a bosom white,

Which came and went beneath me like a sea,

An emperor I lay in empire bright,

Lord of the beating heart; while tenderly

Love-words were glutting my love-greedy ears.
Kind Love, I thank thee for that happy night!

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Than the vast midnight with its gleaming spheres. Leander toiling through the midnight brine,

Kingdomless Anthony, were scarce my peers.


ALEXANDER SHEATHED is the river as it glideth by,


1830–1867. Frost-pearled are all the boughs in forests old,

The sheep are huddling close upon the wold,

And over them the stars tremble on high.

Pure joys these winter nights around me lie;

'Tis fine to loiter through the lighted street

At Christmas time, and guess from brow and pace

The doom and history of each one we meet,

What kind of heart beats in each dusky case ;

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'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair, And the deep sea still foams its music old.

So, if we are at all divinely souled,

This beauty will unloose our bonds of care.

'Tis pleasant when blue skies are o'er us bending

Within old starry-gated Poesy,

To meet a soul set to no worldly tune,

Like thine, sweet Friend! Oh, dearer this to me

Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon,

Or noble music with a golden ending.


In these Notes the Editor has occasionally made use, with the permission of the Proprietors, of a paper written him, entitled “The English Sonnet,” and published in the Cornhill Magazine, May, 1872.

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