Edward Bulwer-Lytton

The Image on the Tide

  Not a sound is heard
    But my heart by thine,
  Breathe not a word,
    Lay thy hand in mine.

  How trembling, yet still,
    On the lake's clear tide,
  Sleep the distant hill,
    And the bank beside.

  The near and the far,
    Intermingled flow;
  The herb and the star
    Imaged both below.

  So deep and so clear,
    Through the shadowy light,
  The far and the near
    In my soul unite;

  The future and past,
    Like the bank and hill,
  On the surface glass'd,
    Though they tremble still;

  Disturb not the dream
    Of this double whole;
  The heav'n in the stream
    On my soul thy soul.

  The sense cannot count
    (As the waters glass
  The forest and mount
    And the clouds that pass)

  The shadows and gleams
    In that stilly deep,
  Like the tranquil dreams
    Of a hermit's sleep.

  _One_ shadow alone
    On my soul doth fall,--
  And yet in the one
    It reflects on All.