A POET'S LOVE.
Faint and more faint amid the world of dreams,
That which was once my all, thy image seems,
Pale as a star that in the morning gleams.
Long time that sweet face was my guiding star,
Bringing me visions of the fair and far,
Remote from this world's toil and this world's jar.
Around it was an atmosphere of light,
Deep with the tranquil loveliness of night,
Subdued and shadowy, yet serenely bright.
Like to a spirit did it dwell apart,
Hushed in the sweetest silence of my heart,
Lifting me to the heaven from whence thou art.
Too soon the day broke on that haunted hour,
Loosing its spell, and weakening its power,
All that had been imagination's dower.
The noontide quenched that once enchanted ray,
Care, labour, sorrow, gathered on the day;
Toil was upon my steps, dust on my way.
They melted down to earth my upward wings;
I half forgot the higher, better things—
The hope which yet again thy image brings.
Would I were worthier of thee? I am fain,
Amid my life of bitterness and pain,
To dream once more my early dreams again.
