And she was there and mid the young
And beautiful stood first, alone;
Tho' on her gentle brow still hung
The shadow I that morn had thrown--
The first that ever shame or woe
Had cast upon its vernal snow.
My heart was maddened;--in the flush
Of the wild revel I gave way
To all that frantic mirth--that rush
Of desperate gayety which they,
Who never felt how pain's excess
Can break out thus, think happiness!
Sad mimicry of mirth and life
Whose flashes come but from the strife
Of inward passions--like the light
Struck out by clashing swords in fight.
Then too that juice of earth, the bane
And blessing of man's heart and brain--
That draught of sorcery which brings
Phantoms of fair, forbidden things--
Whose drops like those of rainbows smile
Upon the mists that circle man,
Brightening not only Earth the while,
But grasping Heaven too in their span!--
Then first the fatal wine-cup rained
Its dews of darkness thro' my lips,
Casting whate'er of light remained
To my lost soul into eclipse;
And filling it with such wild dreams,
Such fantasies and wrong desires,
As in the absence of heaven's beams
Haunt us for ever--like wildfires
That walk this earth when day retires.
Now hear the rest;--our banquet done,
I sought her in the accustomed bower,
Where late we oft, when day was gone
And the world husht, had met alone,
At the same silent, moonlight hour.
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