ty mid region of Weir: - Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber - This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Said we, then - the two, then - "Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls - The pitiful, the merciful ghouls, To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds - From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds Have drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls - This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?" (1847-1849) 36.  , , . , , . , , - , - , , - . , , , , . , , , , . - , , , : , (, !), , , ( - !), , - ! , , - , , , ; , . : " . , . , ; , - . , , , , ". , , : " ! , ! ! ! ! , !" , , , , , . : " ! , . , , ! ! ! , ! , , , - !" , - , - , , , . , , , , - . , , " ?" - . : "! ! - !" - , - , - . : " , , ! : , , ( !). ! ! - , - ! , - !" (1924) . 37. AN ENIGMA "Seldom we find", says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet - Trash of all trash! - how _can_ a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff - Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it? And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermanities are arrant Bubbles - ephemeral and _so_ transparent - But _this is_, now, - you may depend upon it - Stable, opaque, immortal - all by dint Of the dear names that lie concealed within 't. (1847) 37.  "__, - , __ -. __ , __ . __ ! , , __! . __ , , , - __, , ". __ ; __ , - __ ! __ , __, , : ! (1924) . 38. THE BELLS 1. Hear the sledges with the bells - Silver bells! _What_ a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the Heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 2. Hear the mellow wedding bells - Golden bells! _What_ a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! - From the molten-golden notes And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells _What_ a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! - how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells! - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! 3. Hear the loud alarum bells - Brazen bells! _What_ a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of Night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire - In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire And a resolute endeavor Now - now to sit, or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of despair! How they clang and clash and roar! What a horror they outpour In the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows: - Yes, the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells - Of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! 4. Hear the tolling of the bells - Iron bells! _What_ a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy meaning of the tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people - ah, the people They that dwell up in the steeple All alone, And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Fell a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone - They are neither man nor woman - They are neither brute nor human, They are Ghouls: - And their king it is who tolls: - And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls A Paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the Paean of the bells! And he dances and he yells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the Paean of the bells - Of the bells: - Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells - To the sobbing of the bells: - Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells: - To the tolling of the bells - Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells - To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. (1849) 38.  1. , , ! , , . , , , , , , , - . , , , , , , , , , , , , ; , , , . 2. , ! ! - , . , , , , . , , , . ! 3. , , ! , , . , , , , , , - , , , , , , , , ! , ! , , , , , , , , : , , , , - ! , , , , , , , , , , , , ! , , ! , , , , ! , , - ! 4. , ! , . ! , , , . -, , , , , , , , , . , : , . , - , - , - , , , , , , , , , . (1895) . 39. TO HELEN I saw thee once - once only - years ago: I must not say _how_ many - but _not_ many. It was a July midnight; and from out A full-orbed moon, that, like thine own soul, soaring, Sought a precipitate pathway up through heaven, There fell a silvery-silken veil of light, With quietude, and sultriness, and slumber, Upon the upturn'd faces of a thousand Roses that grew in an enchanted garden, Where no wind dared to stir, unless on tiptoe - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That gave out, in return for the love-light, Their odorous souls in an ecstatic death - Fell on the upturn'd faces of these roses That smiled and died in this parterre, enchanted By thee, and by the poetry of thy presence. Clad all in white, upon a violet bank I saw thee half reclining; while the moon Fell on the upturn'd faces of the roses, And on thine own, upturn'd - alas, in sorrow! Was it not Fate, that, on this July midnight - Was it not Fate, (whose name is also Sorrow), That bade me pause before that garden-gate, To breathe the incense of those slumbering roses? No footstep stirred: the hated world all slept, Save only thee and me. (Oh, Heaven! - oh, God! How my heart beats in coupling those two words!) Save only thee and me. I paused - I looked - And in an instant all things disappeared. (Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!) The pearly lustre of the moon went out: The mossy banks and the meandering paths, The happy flowers and the repining trees, Were seen no more: the very roses' odors Died in the arms of the adoring airs. All - all expired save thee - save less than thou: Save only the divine light in thine eyes - Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes. I saw but them - they were the world to me. I saw but them - saw only them for hours - Saw only them until the moon went down. What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres! How dark a wo! yet how sublime a hope! How silently serene a sea of pride! How daring an ambition! yet how deep - How fathomless a capacity for love! But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight, Into a western couch of thunder-cloud; And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees Didst glide away. _Only thine eyes remained_. They _would not go_ - they never yet have gone. Lighting my lonely pathway home that night, _They_ have not left me (as my hopes have) since. They follow me - they lead me through the years. They are my ministers - yet I their slave. Their office is to illumine and enkindle - My duty, _to be saved_ by their bright light, And purified in their electric fire, And sanctified in their elysian fire. They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope,) And are far up in Heaven - the stars I kneel to In the sad, silent watches of my night; While even in the meridian glare of day I see them still - two sweetly scintillant Venuses, unextinguished by the sun! (1848-1849) 39.  , ; ; , . ; , , , , - - , , , , , , - , , , , - , , . , , ; , - ! . - , , ( ), , ? ; - , (! ! , ). . , (, , - !), , , , , , - , ; . , - , - , , : - , . : - ; ; , , . , ! ! ! ! , ! , , , , ; , , , . , , - , , ( ) - . , , - ; - , ; , , . ( - ), - , ; , , - , . (1924) . 40. FOR ANNIE Thank Heaven! the crisis - The danger is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last - And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length - But no matter! - I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly, Now, in my bed, That any beholder Might fancy me dead - Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart: - ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness - the nausea - The pitiless pain - Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain - With the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain. And oh! of all tortures _That_ torture the worst Has abated - the terrible Torture of thirst For the napthaline river Of Passion accurst: - I have drank of a water That quenches all thirst: - Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground - From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed - And, to _sleep_, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting its roses - Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses: For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odor About it, of pansies - A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies - With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies. And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie - Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast - Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm - To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead - And I rest so contentedly, Now in my bed, (With her love at my breast) That you fancy me dead - That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead: - But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie - It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie - With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. (1849) 40.  ! , , , , "" - . , , , , , , - ! - , . , , , , - , , , - . , , , , , , : - , . , , "", , . , , , , , - , , , , , . __ , , : - , , , , , . ! , - , : - - __, . , , , : - , , - , - - , . , , , , , . - " - " - , . , , , . , ( , ), - . , - , ( - ), - , , , - , . , , , , ! (1911) . 41. ELDORADO Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old - This knight so bold - And o'er his heart a shadow Fell, as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length He met a pilgrim shadow - "Shadow", said he, "Where can it be - This land of Eldorado?" "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride", The shade replied, - "If you seek for Eldorado!" (1849) 41.  , . , , . - , . , , . , - : " ?" : ", , , ?" : " , . , , , !" (1899) . 42. TO MY MOTHER Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of "Mother", Therefore by that dear name I long have called you - You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you In setting my Virginia's spirit free. My mother - my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life. (1849) 42.  , , , , , . - , , , , . , , . , - ! , , - ! (1901) . 43. ANNABEL LEE It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea,