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O ! NOTHING earthly save the ray
(Thrown back from flowers) of Beauty’s eye,
As in those gardens where the day
Springs from the gems of Circassy –
O ! nothing earthly save the thrill
Of melody in woodland rill –
Or (music of the passion-hearted)
Joy’s voice so peacefully departed
That like the murmur in the shell,
Its echo dwelleth and will dwell –
Oh, nothing of the dross of ours –
Yet all the beauty – all the flowers
That list our Love, and deck our bowers –
Adorn yon world afar, afar –
The wandering star.

‘Twas a sweet time for Nesace – for there
Her world lay lolling on the golden air,
Near four bright suns – a temporary rest –
An oasis in desert of the blest.

* A star was discovered by Tycho Brahe which appeared suddenly in the
heavens – attained, in a few days, a brilliancy surpassing that of Jupiter
– then as suddenly disappeared, and has never been seen since.

Away – away – ‘mid seas of rays that roll
Empyrean splendor o’er th’ unchained soul –
The soul that scarce (the billows are so dense)
Can struggle to its destin’d eminence –
To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode,
And late to ours, the favour’d one of God –
But, now, the ruler of an anchor’d realm,
She throws aside the sceptre – leaves the helm,
And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns,
Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs.

Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth,
Whence sprang the “Idea of Beauty” into birth,
(Falling in wreaths thro’ many a startled star,
Like woman’s hair ‘mid pearls, until, afar,
It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt)
She look’d into Infinity – and knelt.
Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled –
Fit emblems of the model of her world –
Seen but in beauty – not impeding sight
Of other beauty glittering thro’ the light –
A wreath that twined each starry form around,
And all the opal’d air in color bound.

All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed
Of flowers : of lilies such as rear’d the head
*On the fair Capo Deucato, and sprang
So eagerly around about to hang
Upon the flying footsteps of — deep pride –
�Of her who lov’d a mortal – and so died.
The Sephalica, budding with young bees,
Uprear’d its purple stem around her knees :

[* On Santa Maura – olim Deucadia. � Sappho.]

*And gemmy flower, of Trebizond misnam’d –
Inmate of highest stars, where erst it sham’d
All other loveliness : its honied dew
(The fabled nectar that the heathen knew)
Deliriously sweet, was dropp’d from Heaven,
And fell on gardens of the unforgiven
In Trebizond – and on a sunny flower
So like its own above that, to this hour,
It still remaineth, torturing the bee
With madness, and unwonted reverie :
In Heaven, and all its environs, the leaf
And blossom of the fairy plant, in grief
Disconsolate linger – grief that hangs her head,
Repenting follies that full long have fled,
Heaving her white breast to the balmy air,
Like guilty beauty, chasten’d, and more fair :
Nyctanthes too, as sacred as the light
She fears to perfume, perfuming the night :
�And Clytia pondering between many a sun,
While pettish tears adown her petals run :
�And that aspiring flower that sprang on Earth –
And died, ere scarce exalted into birth,
Bursting its odorous heart in spirit to wing
Its way to Heaven, from garden of a king :