By a still sullen pool, Into its dark depths gazing, lay the ghost Whom next I passed. In form, a lovely youth, Scarce passed from boyhood. Golden curls were his, And wide blue eyes. The semblance of a smile Came on his lip--a girl's but for the down Which hardly shaded it; but the pale cheek Was soft as any maiden's, and his robe Was virginal, and at his breast he bore The perfumed amber cup which, when March comes Gems the dry woods and windy wolds, and speaks The resurrection. Looking up, he said: "Methought I saw her then, my love, my fair, My beauty, my ideal; the dim clouds Lifted, methought, a little--or was it Fond Fancy only? For I know that here No sunbeam cleaves the twilight, but a mist Creeps over all the sky and fields and pools, And blots them; and I know I seek in vain My earth-sought beauty, nor can Fancy bring An answer to my thought from these blind depths And unawakened skies. Yet has use made The quest so precious, that I keep it here, Well knowing it is vain. On the old earth 'Twas otherwise, when in fair Thessaly I walked regardless of all nymphs who sought My love, but sought in vain, whether it were Dryad or Naiad from the woods or streams, Or white-robed Oread fleeting on the side Of fair Olympus, echoing back my sighs, In vain, for through the mountains day by day I wandered, and along the foaming brooks, And by the pine-woods dry, and never took A thought for love, nor ever 'mid the throng Of loving nymphs who knew me beautiful I dallied, unregarding; till they said Some died for love of me, who loved not one. And yet I cared not, wandering still alone Amid the mountains by the scented pines.
Till one fair day, when all the hills were still, Nor any breeze made murmur through the boughs, Nor cloud was on the heavens, I wandered slow, Leaving the nymphs who fain with dance and song Had kept me 'midst the glades, and strayed away Among the pines, enwrapt in fantasy, And by the beechen dells which clothe the feet Of fair Olympus, wrapt in fantasy, Weaving the thin and unembodied shapes Which Fancy loves to body forth, and leave In marble or in song; and so strayed down To a low sheltered vale above the plains, Where the lush grass grew thick, and the stream stayed Its garrulous tongue; and last upon the bank Of a still pool I came, where was no flow Of water, but the depths were clear as air, And nothing but the silvery gleaming side Of tiny fishes stirred. There lay I down Upon the flowery bank, and scanned the deep, Half in a waking dream. Then swift there rose, From those enchanted depths, a face more fair Than ever I had dreamt of, and I knew My sweet long-sought ideal: the thick curls, Like these, were golden, and the white robe showed Like this; but for the wondrous eyes and lips, The tender loving glance, the sunny smile Upon the rosy mouth, these knew I not, Not even in dreams; and yet I seemed to trace Myself within them too, as who should find His former self expunged, and him transformed To some high thin ideal, separate From what he was, by some invisible bar, And yet the same in difference. As I moved My arms to clasp her to me, lo! she moved Her eager arms to mine, smiled to my smile, Looked love to love, and answered longing eyes With longing. When my full heart burst in words, 'Dearest, I love thee,' lo! the lovely lips, 'Dearest, I love thee,' sighed, and through the air The love-lorn echo rang. But when I longed To answer kiss with kiss, and stooped my lips To her sweet lips in that long thrill which strains Soul unto soul, the cold lymph came between And chilled our love, and kept us separate souls Which fain would mingle, and the self-same heaven Rose, a blue vault above us, and no shade Of earthly thing obscured us, as we lay Two reflex souls, one and yet different, Two sundered souls longing to be at one.