Neither moon nor star. We would call aloud in the dreamy dells, Laughing and clapping their hands between, All night, merrily, merrily: But I would throw to them back in mine Turkis and agate and almondine : Laughingly, laughingly. O, what a happy life were mine THE MERMAID. I. WHO would be II. I would be a mermaid fair; I would sing to myself the whole of the day; With a comb of pearl I would comb my hair; And still as I comb'd I would sing and say, "Who is it loves me? who loves not me?" I would comb my hair till my ringlets would fall Low adown, low adown, From under my starry sea-bud crown Low adown and around, And I should look like a fountain of With a shrill inner sound, In the midst of the hall; In the purple twilights under the sea; In the hueless mosses under the sea Would lean out from the hollow sphere of the sea, All looking down for the love of me. SONNET TO J. M. K. My hope and heart is with thee - thou wilt be A latter Luther, and a soldier-priest To scare church-harpies from the master's feast; Our dusted velvets have much need of | The humming of the drowsy pulpit-drone Half God's good sabbath, while the worn thee: [This division of this volume was published in the winter of 1832. Some of the poems have been considerably altered. Others have been added, which, with one exception, were written in 1833.] THE LADY OF SHALOTT. PART I. ON either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, To many-tower'd Camelot ; The island of Shalott. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Flowing down to Camelot. The Lady of Shalott. By the margin, willow-veil'd, Skimming down to Camelot : Only reapers, reaping early Hear a song that echoes cheerly Down to tower'd Camelot : And by the moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers "Tis the fairy Lady of Shalott." PART II. THERE she weaves by night and day To look down to Camelot. And moving thro' a mirror clear Winding down to Camelot: Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, The knights come riding two and two : But in her web she still delights And music, went to Camelot : PART III. A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves, A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, As he rode down to Camelot : Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather As often thro' the purple night, His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; As he rode down to Camelot. Sang Sir Lancelot. She left the web, she left the loom, Sne made three paces thro' the room, She saw the water-lily bloom, PART IV. In the stormy east-wind straining, Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd Camelot ; And down the river's dim expanse Did she look to Camelot. Lying, robed in snowy white She floated down to Camelot : Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot ; The Lady of Shalott. Under tower and balcony, And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, Till all the crimson changed, and past Before Our Lady murmur'd she; "Is this the form," she made her moan, "That won his praises night and morn?" morn, She thought, "My spirit is here alone, Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." Dreaming, she knew it was a dream: Fell, and, without, the steady glare She whisper'd, with a stifled moan And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth, For "Love," they said, "must needs be true, To what is loveliest upon earth." An image seem'd to pass the door, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn!" But sometimes in the falling day An image seem'd to pass the door, To look into her eyes and say, "But thou shalt be alone no more." And flaming downward over all From heat to heat the day decreased, And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow from the wall. "The day to night," she made her moan, "The day to night, the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone To live forgotten, and love forlorn." At eve a dry cicala sung, There came a sound as of the sea; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And lean'd upon the balcony. There all in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, Heaven over Heaven rose the night. And deepening thro' the silent spheres, And weeping then she made her moan, "The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." ELEÄNORE. I. THY dark eyes open'd not, Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Thou wert born, on a summer morn, |