Like Egypt’s queen in her imperial play, She, in abandonment more wildly sweet, Melted the pearl of her pure _Life_ away, And poured the rich libation at its feet, And in exulting rapture _dreamed_ the smile That should have answered in its eyes the while.
And all rare gifts she lavished on that altar, Treasures the mines of India could not buy, Nor did her foot-fall for a moment falter, Though the world watched her with an evil eye, And sad friends whispered “Soon she’ll wake to weep, For lo! she walks in an enchanted sleep.”
Oh! glorious dreamer! with dark eyes upturned In wondering worship to that godlike brow, How the rare beauty of thy spirit burned In the rapt gaze and in the glowing vow, How didst thou waste on one thy soul should scorn The glory of a blush that mocked the _Morn_!
She turned from all—from friendship and the world— Only _Love_ knew the way to that dim glade, And calm her sweet, yet queenly lip had curled Had the world’s whisper reached her in that shade, But she was deaf and dumb and blind to all, Save to the charm that held her heart in thrall.
And Love, who loved her, flew at her sweet will, Bringing all gems that hoard the rainbow’s splendor, And singing-birds with magic in their trill, And what wild-flowers fairy-land could lend her, And flower and bird and jewel all were laid To grace that golden altar in the Shade.
Fair was that sylvan solitude I ween— The lady’s charmed and trancéd spirit lent The starlight of its beauty to the scene, And joy and music with the fountain went, While in a still enchantment on its throne The lucid statue cold and stately shone.
Love lent her, too, th’ enchanted lute he played And she would let her light hand float at will Across its chords of silver, half afraid, Like a white lily on a murmuring rill, Till Music’s soul, waked by that touch, took wing, And mingling with it hers would soar and sing—
“Dost thou see—dost thou feel—oh, mine idol divine, How I’ve yielded the soul of my soul for thy shrine? Dost thou thrill to the tones of my melody sweet? Does it glide to thy _heart_ on its musical feet? Dost thou love the light touch of my hand as I twine My passion-flower wreath for thy beauty benign?
“Dost thou know how I’ve gathered all gifts that I own To bless and to brighten the place of thy throne, How my thoughts like young singing-birds flutter and fly With a song for thine ear and a gleam for thine eye, How Truth’s precious gems, that drink sunbeams for wine, Are wreathed into chaplets of light for thy shrine?