Can you forget her blush when round
Thro' Eden's lone, enchanted ground
She lookt, and saw the sea--the skies--
And heard the rush of many a wing,
On high behests then vanishing;
And saw the last few angel eyes,
Still lingering--mine among the rest,--
Reluctant leaving scenes so blest?
From that miraculous hour the fate
Of this new, glorious Being dwelt
For ever with a spell-like weight
Upon my spirit--early, late,
Whate'er I did or dreamed or felt,
The thought of what might yet befall
That matchless creature mixt with all.--
Nor she alone but her whole race
Thro' ages yet to come--whate'er
Of feminine and fond and fair
Should spring from that pure mind and face,
All waked my soul's intensest care;
Their forms, souls, feelings, still to me
Creation's strangest mystery!
It was my doom--even from the first,
When witnessing the primal burst
Of Nature's wonders, I saw rise
Those bright creations in the skies,--
Those worlds instinct with life and light,
Which Man, remote, but sees by night,--
It was my doom still to be haunted
By some new wonder, some sublime
And matchless work, that for the time
Held all my soul enchained, enchanted,
And left me not a thought, a dream,
A word but on that only theme!
The wish to know--that endless thirst,
Which even by quenching is awaked,
And which becomes or blest or curst
As is the fount whereat 'tis slaked--
Still urged me onward with desire
Insatiate, to explore, inquire--
Whate'er the wondrous things might be
That waked each new idolatry--
Their cause, aim, source, whenever sprung--
Their inmost powers, as tho' for me
Existence on that knowledge hung.
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