Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/302

 And now all the leaves that are sere and dry, Noiselessly fall, like stars from the sky; They are showering down on either hand, A brown, brown burden upon the land. And thus it will be with the love-stricken maid, That loveth the Spirits of Light and Shade, And whose thoughts commune with the spirits that write The blue book of heaven with words of light. And who bend down in love for her, From their stately domes on high, To teach her each bright character That gleameth in her eye, When the solemn night unrols The vast map of the world of souls. Oh, extacy! rapt extacy! For a poor maiden of earth like me; To have and hold The spirits who shine like molten gold, Eternally.

Beautiful Spirits! flee me not; For this is the hour, and this is the spot, Where we were wont of old to spell The language of the star-filled sky;