In Three Days

So, I shall see her in three days
And just one night, but nights are short,
Then two long hours, and that is morn.
See how I come, unchanged, unworn!
Feel, where my life broke off from thine,
How fresh the splinters keep and fine---
Only a touch and we combine!

Too long, this time of year, the days!
But nights, at least the nights are short.
As night shows where ger one moon is,
A hand's-breadth of pure light and bliss,
So life's night gives my lady birth
And my eyes hold her! What is worth
The rest of heaven, the rest of earth?

O loaded curls, release your store
Of warmth and scent, as once before
The tingling hair did, lights and darks
Outbreaking into fairy sparks,
When under curl and curl I pried
After the warmth and scent inside,
Thro' lights and darks how manifold---
The dark inspired, the light controlled
As early Art embrowns the gold.

What great fear, should one say, "Three days
"That change the world might change as well
"Your fortune; and if joy delays,
"Be happy that no worse befell!''
What small fear, if another says,
"Three days and one short night beside
"May throw no shadow on your ways;
"But years must teem with change untried,
"With chance not easily defied,
"With an end somewhere undescried.''
No fear!---or if a fear be born
This minute, it dies out in scorn.
Fear? I shall see her in three days
And one night, now the nights are short,
Then just two hours, and that is morn.

1832

More from Poet

Nos, vége! s bármily fájó íz is,
úgy fáj-e, mint hivém?
Ejh! jójszakát cseveg a csíz is
már a tornác ivén!

A szőlők ifjú rügye pelyhes,
így láttam én ma még,
de holnap mind pattanva kelyhes
- s lásd, minden szín kiég...

Drágám, hát ránk is ily...

A szürke tenger, a fekete táj: a hold, mint sárga, görbe kés: s az álmukból riadó pici hullámok tüzes gyűrűi, mikor az öbölbe fordulok, és csónakom a parton megáll. Aztán egy mérföld sós homok: három dűlőn túl a tanya: ablak, kopogás, gyors sercegés, kék gyufaláng, mely elenyész, egy nő halk,...

From “Paracelsus” I KNEW, I felt, (perception unexpressed, Uncomprehended by our narrow thought, But somehow felt and known in every shift And change in the spirit,—nay, in every pore Of the body, even,)—what God is, what we are, What life is—how God tastes an infinite joy In infinite ways—one...

From “Pippa Passes” THE YEAR ’S at the spring, And day ’s at the morn; Morning ’s at seven; The hill-side ’s dew-pearled; The lark ’s on the wing; The snail ’s on the thorn; God ’s in His heaven— All ’s right with the world.

Early one winter morn, in such a village as this, Snow-whitened everywhere except the middle road Ice-roughed by track of sledge, there worked by his abode Ivàn Ivànovitch, the carpenter, employed On a huge shipmast trunk; his axe now trimmed and toyed With branch and twig, and now some chop...