Page 141 of 144 OLD ENGLISH POETRY - The Works of Edgar Allan Poe V. 5

Thy lowly cottage door
Under the lilac's tremulous leaves--
Within thy snowy claspeèd hand

The purple flowers it bore..
Last eve in dreams, I saw thee stand,
Like queenly nymphs from Fairy-land--
Enchantress of the flowery wand,

Most beauteous Isadore!

II

And when I bade the dream

Upon thy spirit flee,

Thy violet eyes to me
Upturned, did overflowing seem
With the deep, untold delight

Of Love's serenity;
Thy classic brow, like lilies white
And pale as the Imperial Night
Upon her throne, with stars bedight,

Enthralled my soul to thee!

III

Ah I ever I behold

Thy dreamy, passionate eyes,

Blue as the languid skies

Hung with the sunset's fringe of gold;
Now strangely clear thine image grows,

And olden memories
Are startled from their long repose
Like shadows on the silent snows
When suddenly the night-wind blows

Where quiet moonlight ties.

IV

Like music heard in dreams,

Like strains of harps unknown,

Of birds forever flown
Audible as the voice of streams
That murmur in some leafy dell,

I hear thy gentlest tone,
And Silence cometh with her spell
Like that which on my tongue doth dwell,
When tremulous in dreams I tell

My love to thee alone!

V

In every valley heard,

Floating from tree to tree,

Less beautiful to, me,
The music of the radiant bird,
Than artless accents such as thine

Whose echoes never flee!
Ah! how for thy sweet voice I pine:--
For uttered in thy tones benign
(Enchantress!) this rude name of mine

Doth seem a melody I

======

THE VILLAGE STREET

IN these rapid, restless shadows,

Once I walked at eventide,
When a gentle, silent maiden,

Wal ked in beauty at my side
She alone there walked beside me

All in beauty, like a bride.

Pallidly the moon was shining

On the dewy meadows nigh;
On the silvery, silent rivers,

On the mountains far and high
On the ocean's star-lit waters,

Where the winds a-weary die.

Slowly, silently we wandered
From the open cottage door,
Underneath the elm's long branches
To the pavement bending o'er;
Underneath the mossy willow
And the dying sycamore.

With the myriad stars in beauty
All bedight, the heavens were seen,
Radiant hopes were bright around me,
Like the light of stars serene;
Like the mellow midnight splendor
Of the Night's irradiate queen.

Audibly the elm-leaves whispered

Peaceful, pleasant melodies,
Like the distant murmured music

Of unquiet, lovely seas:
While the winds were hushed in slumber

In the fragrant flowers and trees.

		When liberty comes with hands dabbled in blood it is hard to shake hands with her. Oscar Wilde