Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1830.pdf/10



While he of the lute and the laurel For thee has forgotten the throng, And builds on thy fairy-like beauty A future of sigh and of song. Ay, listen, but as unto music The wild wind is bearing away, As sweet as the sea-shells at evening, But far too unearthly to stay.

For the love-dream that haunts the young poet Is coloured too much by his mind— A fabric of fancy and falsehood, But never for lasting designed. For he lives but in beauty—his visions Inspire with their passion his strain; And the spirit so quick at impression Was never meant long to retain.

But another is passing before me— Oh, pause, let me gaze on thy brow; I've seen thee, fair lady, thrice lovely, But never so lovely as now. Thou art changed since those earlier numbers, When thou wert a vision to me; And copies from some fairest picture, My heroines were painted from thee.

Thy cheek with its sunset of crimson, Like a rose crushed on ivory, bears Its sunny smile still, but a softness Is now in the radiance it wears. A halo of love is around thee, It is as if nature had willed That thy happiness should be affection, And thy destiny now is fulfilled.