These swirls denote
How wind and tide conspire. I can but float
To the open sea and strike no more for land.
Farewell, brown cliffs, farewell, beloved sand
Her feet have pressed--farewell, dear little boat
Where Gelert,[Footnote] calmly sitting on my coat,
Unconscious of my peril, gazes bland!
All dangers grip me save the deadliest, fear:
Yet these air-pictures of the past that glide--
These death-mirages o'er the heaving tide--
Showing two lovers in an alcove clear,
Will break my heart. I see them and I hear
As there they sit at morning, side by side.
[Footnote: A famous swimming dog.]
THE VISION
_With Barton elms behind--in front the sea,
Sitting in rosy light in that alcove,
They hear the first lark rise o'er Raxton Grove:
'What should I do with fame, dear heart?' says he,
'You talk of fame, poetic fame, to me
Whose crown is not of laurel but of love--
To me who would not give this little glove
On this dear hand for Shakespeare's dower in fee.
While, rising red and kindling every billow,
The sun's shield shines 'neath many a golden spear,
To lean with you, against this leafy pillow,
To murmur words of love in this loved ear--
To feel you bending like a bending willow,
This is to be a poet--this, my dear!'_
O God, to die and leave her--die and leave
The heaven so lately won!--And then, to know
What misery will be hers--what lonely woe!--
To see the bright eyes weep, to see her grieve
Will make me a coward as I sink, and cleave
To life though Destiny has bid me go.
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