TO ——— ———.
113
Thou art afar,
I know not where, but still the arches lone
Of Memory's sacred temple are illumed
By the pure, blessed brilliancy they caught
From thy dear presence, and they echo yet
Thy voice's spirit-music, till the air
Grows tremulous with joy. The wanderers o'er
The bright realms of the rosy Hesperus,
Ne'er revelled in an atmosphere of bliss
Like that which thrills around me with the spell
Of thy remembered cadences.
I know not where, but still the arches lone
Of Memory's sacred temple are illumed
By the pure, blessed brilliancy they caught
From thy dear presence, and they echo yet
Thy voice's spirit-music, till the air
Grows tremulous with joy. The wanderers o'er
The bright realms of the rosy Hesperus,
Ne'er revelled in an atmosphere of bliss
Like that which thrills around me with the spell
Of thy remembered cadences.
And yet
I love thee not. I only ask to look
With thee upon the heavens that roll serene
And beautiful above; to sit and gaze
On the same stars thou gazest on, and send
My soul to thine when slumber's midnight dews
Have fallen on thy blue-veined lids, and hushed
Thy heart to rest. Oh I would love to flit,
The spirit of the zephyr, through thy dreams,
I love thee not. I only ask to look
With thee upon the heavens that roll serene
And beautiful above; to sit and gaze
On the same stars thou gazest on, and send
My soul to thine when slumber's midnight dews
Have fallen on thy blue-veined lids, and hushed
Thy heart to rest. Oh I would love to flit,
The spirit of the zephyr, through thy dreams,
