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Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;

       They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low,

       And saw each other's dark eyes darting light

       Into each other—and, beholding this,

       Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;

       A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,

       And beauty, all concentrating like rays

       Into one focus, kindled from above;

       Such kisses as belong to early days,

       Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,

       And the blood 's lava, and the pulse a blaze,

       Each kiss a heart-quake—for a kiss's strength,

       I think, it must be reckon'd by its length.

       By length I mean duration; theirs endured

       Heaven knows how long—no doubt they never reckon'd;

       And if they had, they could not have secured

       The sum of their sensations to a second:

       They had not spoken; but they felt allured,

       As if their souls and lips each other beckon'd,

       Which, being join'd, like swarming bees they clung—

       Their hearts the flowers from whence the honey sprung.

       They were alone, but not alone as they

       Who shut in chambers think it loneliness;

       The silent ocean, and the starlight bay,

       The twilight glow which momently grew less,

       The voiceless sands and dropping caves, that lay

       Around them, made them to each other press,

       As if there were no life beneath the sky

       Save theirs, and that their life could never die.

       They fear'd no eyes nor ears on that lone beach,

       They felt no terrors from the night, they were

       All in all to each other: though their speech

       Was broken words, they thought a language there—

       And all the burning tongues the passions teach

       Found in one sigh the best interpreter

       Of nature's oracle—first love—that all

       Which Eve has left her daughters since her fall.

       Haidde spoke not of scruples, ask'd no vows,

       Nor offer'd any; she had never heard

       Of plight and promises to be a spouse,

       Or perils by a loving maid incurr'd;

       She was all which pure ignorance allows,

       And flew to her young mate like a young bird;

       And, never having dreamt of falsehood, she

       Had not one word to say of constancy.

       She loved, and was beloved—she adored,

       And she was worshipp'd; after nature's fashion,

       Their intense souls, into each other pour'd,

       If souls could die, had perish'd in that passion—

       But by degrees their senses were restored,

       Again to be o'ercome, again to dash on;

       And, beating 'gainst his bosom, Haidee's heart

       Felt as if never more to beat apart.

       Alas! they were so young, so beautiful,

       So lonely, loving, helpless, and the hour

       Was that in which the heart is always full,

       And, having o'er itself no further power,

       Prompts deeds eternity can not annul,

       But pays off moments in an endless shower

       Of hell-fire—all prepared for people giving

       Pleasure or pain to one another living.

       Alas! for Juan and Haidee! they were

       So loving and so lovely—till then never,

       Excepting our first parents, such a pair

       Had run the risk of being damn'd for ever;

       And Haidee, being devout as well as fair,

       Had, doubtless, heard about the Stygian river,

       And hell and purgatory—but forgot

       Just in the very crisis she should not.

       They look upon each other, and their eyes

       Gleam in the moonlight; and her white arm clasps

       Round Juan's head, and his around her lies

       Half buried in the tresses which it grasps;

       She sits upon his knee, and drinks his sighs,

       He hers, until they end in broken gasps;

       And thus they form a group that 's quite antique,

       Half naked, loving, natural, and Greek.

       And when those deep and burning moments pass'd,

       And Juan sunk to sleep within her arms,

       She slept not, but all tenderly, though fast,

       Sustain'd his head upon her bosom's charms;

       And now and then her eye to heaven is cast,

       And then on the pale cheek her breast now warms,

       Pillow'd on her o'erflowing heart, which pants

       With all it granted, and with all it grants.

       An infant when it gazes on a light,

       A child the moment when it drains the breast,

       A devotee when soars the Host in sight,

       An Arab with a stranger for a guest,

       A sailor when the prize has struck in fight,

       A miser filling his most hoarded chest,

       Feel rapture; but not such true joy are reaping

       As they who watch o'er what they love while sleeping.

       For there it lies so tranquil, so beloved,

       All that it hath of life with us is living;

       So gentle, stirless, helpless, and unmoved,

       And all unconscious of the joy 't is giving;

       All it hath felt, inflicted, pass'd, and proved,

       Hush'd into depths beyond the watcher's diving:

       There lies the thing we love with all its errors

       And all its charms, like death without its terrors.

       The lady watch'd her lover—and that hour

       Of Love's, and Night's, and Ocean's solitude,

       O'erflow'd her soul with their united power;

       Amidst the barren sand and rocks so rude

       She and her wave-worn love had made their bower,

       Where nought upon their passion could intrude,

       And all the stars that crowded the blue space

       Saw nothing happier than her glowing face.

       Alas! the love of women! it is known

       To be a lovely and a fearful thing;

       For all of theirs upon that die is thrown,

       And if 't is lost, life hath no more to bring

       To them but mockeries of the past alone,

      

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