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When the moon is on the wave, |
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And the glow-worm in the grass, |
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And the meteor on the grave, |
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And the wisp on the morass |
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When the falling stars are shooting, |
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And the answer'd owls are hooting, |
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And the silent leaves are still |
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In the shadow of the hill, |
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Shall my soul be upon thine, |
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With a power and with a sign. |
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Though thy slumber may be deep, |
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Yet thy spirit shall not sleep |
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There are shades which will not vanish, |
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There are thoughts thou canst not banish, |
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By a power to thee unknown, |
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Thou canst never be alone |
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Thou art wrapt as with a shroud, |
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Thou art gather'd in a cloud |
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And for ever shalt thou dwell |
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In the spirit of this spell |
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Though thou seest me not pass by, |
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Thou shalt feel me with thine eye |
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As a thing that, though unseen, |
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Must be near thee, and hath been |
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And when in that secret dread |
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Thou hast turn'd around thy head, |
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Thou shalt marvel I am not |
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As thy shadow on the spot, |
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And the power which thou dost feel |
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Shall be what thou must conceal |
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And a magic voice and verse |
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Hath baptized thee with a curse |
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And a spirit of the air |
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Hath begirt thee with a snare |
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In the wind there is a voice |
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Shall forbid thee to rejoice |
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And to thee shall night deny |
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All the quiet of her sky |
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And the day shall have a sun, |
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Which shall make thee wish it done |
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From thy false tears I did distill |
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An essence which hath strength to kill |
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From thy own heart I then did wring |
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The black blood in it's blackest spring |
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From thy own smile I snatch'd the snake, |
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For there it coil'd as in a brake |
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From thy own lip I drew the the charm |
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Which gave all these their chiefest harm |
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In proving every poison known, |
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I found the strongest was thine own |
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By thy cold breast and serpent smile, |
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By thy unfathom'd gulfs of guile, |
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By that most seeming virtuos eye, |
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By thy shut soul's hypocrisy |
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By the perfection of thine art |
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Which pass'd for human thine own heart |
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By thy delight in others' pain, |
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And by thy brotherhood of Cain, |
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I call upon thee! and compel |
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Thyself to be thy proper hell! |
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And on thy head I pour the vial |
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Which doth devote thee to this trial |
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Nor to slumber, nor to die, |
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Shall be in thy destiny |
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Though thy death shall still seem near |
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To thy wish, but as a fear |
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Lo! the spell now works around thee, |
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And the clankless chain hath bound thee |
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O'er thy heart and brain together |
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Hath the word been pass'd - now wither! |
