Chapter I

Deep in a woody vale, where crystal streams
Run vaguely like the threads of vanished dreams;
Where fountains tinkle to the yellow sun
Sweet rainbow-tinted hopes, and lightly run,
In joyful race unto the distant ocean;
Where greeny swards are checked with light and shade,
To make a cool retreat for fine emotion;
And velvet lawns, than never weft was laid,
More intricate designed of pleasing hues,
So richly gem'd in Orient pearls of dews
Along quaint aisles in mosques of Samarkand,
To bear some solemn priest in deep devotion;
Where vague far vistas stretch on every hand.
To luring scenes; where happy shepherds amble,
With happy maids, as light as lambs agambol,
Or lie alone, with flocks abrowse by streams,
And rear quaint misty cities out of dreams,
Along far clouds of pearly shape and lining,
In crystal walls and domes of no defining,
And people them with shepherds, maids and gods
That live for love, until the shepherd nods,
And dreams of his own Phillis fairer far,--
Upon a hillock in a shady grove,
The heart of this fair scene, its central star,
And viewless as the stars of heaven are,
With too much light, stood once the house of love.
A mansion builded of the rarest stone,
Transparent, gem like, carved, and strangely wrought,
As some fine architecture in a dream is sought,
And gird with fancy's fairest flowers blown.
The house of love, and here of balmy days,
Its gentle spirits thrid in dreamy maze.
And here the days are always balmy, here
'Tis sweet to laugh, and sweet to drop a tear.
Its crystal halls in magic mirror walls,
Stand empty but for one, while myriad falls
Of lover's feet go tripping after her
Or him and wild faint odors sweetly stir
Through all the room from raptured lovers breathing,
While each a rosy crown for aye is wreathing.
This is the house of love, the golden key
Is faith, sweet faith in joy of living,
That doubts the mirror not, nor cares to see
What hidden scenes the glass is loth in giving.