Part 52 (1/2)

Inof the sea, And I feel his salt breath on my face as he showers his kisses on ulls, as they answer the call of the tide, And I watch the fair sails as they glisten like gems on the breast of a bride

From the rock where I stand to the sun is a pathway of sapphire and gold, Like a waif of those Patmian visions that wrapt the lone seer of old, And it seems to my soul like an omen that calls e and one that is dearest to e that looks to the shore,-- Though each drop in the sea were a tear, as it was, I can see it no more; For the heart of its pride with the flowers of the ”Vale of the Shadow” reclines, And--hush'd is the song of the sea and hoarse is the moan of the pines

CI THE FORSAKEN GARDEN

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE--1837-

In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, At the sea-down's edge betard and lee, Wall'd round with rocks as an inland island, The ghost of a garden fronts the sea

A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses The steep square slope of the blossoraves of its roses Now lie dead

The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken, To the low last edge of the long lone land

If a step should sound or a word be spoken, Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand?

So long have the gray bare walks lain guestless, Through branches and briers if a man make way, He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless Night and day

The dense hard passage is blind and stifled, That crawls by a track none turn to climb To the strait waste place that the years have rifled Of all but the thorns that are touch'd not of time

The thorns he spares when the rose is taken; The rocks are left when he wastes the plain

The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken, These remain

Not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls not; As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry; Froale calls not, Could she call, there were never a rose to reply

Over the s but the note of sea-bird's song; Only the sun and the rain co

The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath

Only the wind here hovers and revels In a round where life see of old, there eeping, Haply, of lovers none ever will know, Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping Years ago

Heart handfast in heart as they stood, ”Look thither,”

Did he whisper? ”Look forth from the flowers to the sea; For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossohtlyand the saarden's last petals were shed, In the lips that had whisper'd, the eyes that had lighten'd, Love was dead

Or they lov'd their life through, and then hither?

And were one to the end--but what end who knows?

Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither, As the rose-red seaweed that ht for the dead to love therave?

They are loveless now as the grass above them Or the wave

All are at one now, roses and lovers, Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea