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LEOLINE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: In the molten-golden moonlight
Last Line: My lost love, leoline!
Alternate Author Name(s): Meredith, Owen; Lytton, 1st Earl Of; Lytton, Robert
Subject(s): Love - Loss Of


IN the molten-golden moonlight,
In the deep grass warm and dry,
We watched the fire-fly rise and swim
In floating sparkles by.
All night the hearts of nightingales,
Song-steeping, slumbrous leaves,
Flowed to us in the shadow there
Below the cottage-eaves.

We sang our songs together
Till the stars shook in the skies.
We spoke -- we spoke of common things,
Yet the tears were in our eyes.
And my hand, -- I know it trembled
To each light warm touch of thine.
But we were friends, and only friends,
My sweet friend, Leoline!

How large the white moon looked, Dear!
There has not ever been
Since those old nights the same great light
In the moons which I have seen.
I often wonder, when I think,
If you have thought so too,
And the moonlight has grown dimmer, Dear,
Than it used to be to you.

And sometimes, when the warm west-wind
Comes faint across the sea,
It seems that you have breathed on it,
So sweet it comes to me:
And sometimes, when the long light wanes
In one deep crimson line,
I muse, "and does she watch it too,
Far off, sweet Leoline?"

And often, leaning all day long
My head upon my hands,
My heart aches for the vanisht time
In the far fair foreign lands:
Thinking sadly -- "Is she happy?'
Has she tears for those old hours?
And the cottage in the starlight?
And the songs among the flowers?"

One night we sat below the porch,
And out in that warm air,
A fire-fly, like a dying star,
Fell tangled in her hair;
But I kissed him lightly off again,
And he glittered up the vine,
And died into the darkness
For the love of Leoline!

Between two songs of Petrarch
I've a purple rose-leaf prest,
More sweet than common rose-leaves,
For it once lay in her breast.
When she gave me that her eyes were wet,
The rose was full of dew.
The rose is withered long ago:
The page is blistered too.

There's a blue flower in my garden,
The bee loves more than all:
The bee and I, we love it both,
Though it is frail and small.
She loved it too, -- long, long ago!
Her love was less than mine.
Still we are friends, but only friends,
My lost love, Leoline!





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