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And we agreed his was some dreadful ill
And having stamped this canker on his youth
And I remember one remark which then
Maddalo made. He said: "Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong,
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.”
If I had been an unconnected man
I, from this moment, should have formed some plan Never to leave sweet Venice, for to me
It was delight to ride by the lone sea;
"Her coming made him better, and they stayed "Together at my father's—for I played
"As I remember with the lady's shawl —
"I might be six years old—but after all
"She left him"... "Why, her heart must have been
"How did it end?" "And was not this enough?
"They met they parted'
"Child, is there no
"Something within that interval which bore
"The stamp of why they parted, how they met :
"Yet if thine agèd eyes disdain to wet
"Those wrinkled cheeks with youth's remembered tears, "Ask me no more, but let the silent years "Be closed and cered over their memory
"As yon mute marble where their corpses lie."
I urged and questioned still, she told me how
ON A FADED VIOLET.
THE odour from the flower is gone, Which like thy kisses breathed on me ; The colour from the flower is flown, Which glowed of thee, and only thee!
A shrivelled, lifeless, vacant form,
It lies on my abandoned breast, And mocks the heart which yet is warm With cold and silent rest.
I weep-my tears revive it not !
I sigh-it breathes no more on me;
Its mute and uncomplaining lot
Is such as mine should be.
WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES.
THE sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent might, The breath of the moist earth is light, Around its unexpanded buds ;
Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.
I see the Deep's untrampled floor
With green and purple seaweed strown ;
I see the waves upon the shore,
Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown:
The lightning of the noon-tide ocean
Is flashing round me, and a tone
Arises from its measured motion,
How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion.
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
And walked with inward glory crowned
Smiling they live and call life pleasure ;· To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Yet now despair itself is mild,
Even as the winds and waters are;
Which I have borne and yet must bear,
Some might lament that I were cold,