Two Songs , opus 2

 Swiftly walk over the western wave, 
     Spirit of Night! 
 Out of the misty eastern cave, 
   Where, all the long and lone daylight, 
 Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear 
 Which make thee terrible and dear, - 
     Swift be thy flight!

 Wrap thy form in a mantle grey 
     Star-inwrought! 
 Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
   Kiss her until she be wearied out, 
 Then wander o'er city and sea, and land, 
 Touching all with thine opiate wand - 
     Come, long-sought!

 When I arose and saw the dawn, 
     I sigh'd for thee; 
 When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
   And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, 
 And the weary Day turn'd to his rest, 
 Lingering like an unloved guest, 
     I sigh'd for thee.

 Thy brother Death came, and cried, 
     "Wouldst thou me?" 
 Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
   Murmur'd like a noontide bee, 
 "Shall I nestle near thy side?
 Wouldst thou me?" - And I replied, 
     "No, not thee!"

  Death will come when thou art dead, 
     Soon, too soon -
 Sleep will come when thou art fled; 
   Of neither would I ask the boon 
 I ask to thee, beloved Night -
 Swift be [thine]1 approaching flight,
     Come soon, soon!

  When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead --
  When the cloud is scattered
The rainbow's glory is shed.
  When the lute is broken,  
Sweet tones are remembered not;
  When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.

  As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute, 
  The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute: --
  No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
  Or the mournful surges 
That ring the dead seaman's knell.

  When hearts have once mingled
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
  The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed. 
  O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
  Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

  Its passions will rock thee 
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
  Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
  From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home 
  Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.