Page:The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe (Volume II).djvu/127

 I had no being—but in thee:
 * The world, and all it did contain

In the earth—the air—the sea—
 * Its joy—its little lot of pain

That was new pleasurethe ideal,
 * Dim, vanities of dreams by night—

And dimmer nothings which were real—
 * (Shadows—and a more shadowy light!)

Parted upon their misty wings,
 * And, so, confusedly, became
 * Thine image and—a name—a name!

Two separate—yet most intimate things.

I was ambitious—have you known
 * The passion, father? You have not:

A cottager, I mark'd a throne Of half the world as all my own,
 * And murmur'd at such lowly lot—

But, just like any other dream.
 * Upon the vapor of the dew

My own had past, did not the beam
 * Of beauty which did while it thro'

The minute—the hour—the day—oppress My mind with double loveliness.

We walk'd together on the crown Of a high mountain which look'd down Afar from its proud natural towers
 * Of pock and forest, on the hills—

The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers
 * And shouting with a thousand rills.

I spoke to her of power and pride,
 * But mystically—in such guise