Edward Bulwer-Lytton

I.It is not that our earlier Heaven
Escapes its April showers,
Or that to childhood's heart is given
No snake amidst the flowers.…

As the flight of a river
That flows to the sea
My soul rushes ever
In tumult to thee.A twofold existence…

Nay, soother, do not dream thine art
Can altar Nature's stern decree;
Or give me back the younger heart,
Whose tablets had been clear to thee.Why seek, fair child, to pierce the dark…

I.Farewell! O soul departed!
Farewell! O sacred urn!
Bereaved and broken-hearted,
To earth the mourners turn.…

Wearily flaggeth my Soul in the Desert;
Wearily, wearily.
Sand, ever sand, not a gleam of the fountain;
Sun, ever sun, not a shade from the mountain;…

From Heaven what fancy stole
The dream of some good spirit, aye at hand,
The seraph whispering to the exile soul
Tales of its native land?Who to the cradle gave…

Who that has loved knows not the tender tale
Which flowers reveal, when lips are coy to tell?
Whose youth has paused not, dreaming, in the vale
Where the rath violets dwell?Lo, where they shrink along the lonely brake,…

Written at the age of thirty.I do confess that I have wish'd to give
My land the gift of no ignoble name.
And in that holier air have sought to live,
Sunn'd with the hope of Fame.Do I lament that I have seen the bays…

Sweet are the rosy memories of the lips
That first kiss'd ours, albeit they kiss no more:
Sweet is the sight of sunset-sailing ships,
Altho' they leave us on a lonely shore:…

I.As the bark floateth on o'er the summer-lit sea,
Floats my heart o'er the deeps of its passion for thee;
All lost in the space, without terror it glides,
For bright with thy soul is the face of the tides.…