SONG by AUBREY DE VERE

Slanting both hands against her forehead,
On me she levelled her bright eyes;
My whole heart brightened as the sea
When midnight clouds part suddenly;
Through all my spirit went the lustre
Like starlight poured through purple skies.

And then she sang aloud, sweet music,
Yet louder as aloft it clomb;
Soft when her curving lips it left;
Then rising till the heavens were cleft,
As though each strain, on high expanding,
Were echoes in a silver dome.

But ah! she sings she does not love me;
She loves to say she ne'er can love;
To me her beauty she denies,
Bending the while on me those eyes
Whose beams might charm the mountain leopard,
Or lure Jove's herald from above!

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