POETRY.
LOST VISION.
True is the saying, that In Common lives There dies a poet and the man survives. In some he dies hard, and, before he dies,' Keeps in the half-extinguished spirit-eyes just sight enough to know he cannot see : And so the poet that still breathes in me And strives his fitful essence to prolong Once to the joy departing made this song.
In the forest, among the ruddy pine trunks, Where the russet footing muffles every tread, Alleys tempt, and through the ranged assembly Down never-ending vistas I am led.
My love has her dwelling in the forest, I can feel her as I walk among the pines ; All the avenues of the wood lead to her And my heart runs to her leaping down the lines.
All about her is a magic circle ; I can speak with her, can touch her, take her hand ; But she smiles, her eyes are kind and tranquil, And a world divides me from her where I stand.
All the forest-land is haunted with her presence, In the rustle of the bracken I can hear, I can hear her in the swaying tree-tops ; In the dappled dance of shadow she is near.
For her sake I love the columned forest Where the ways for ever meet, for ever part ; But I dread that I have lost my way for ever To the green and sunny glade that is her heart.
Ah but, love, some day and for a moment Break the circle ; in the sunshine let me lie, See again the eyes divinely altered, Let me see you once again before I die.
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