 | Landscapes in verse |  |
11
The angel form of her my soul adores,
Canst place before my eyes. And soft: methinks,
Led on by thee, I have her in my view;
Lo! there her gracious image! we trace back,
By thee assisted, O seraphic guide!
Each hallow'd step to recollection dear:
And tho' the space of many a gloomy league
Cruel divides me from her gentle hand,
Benignant Thou hast lock'd it fast in mine,
And bids it give me back the thrilling touch
That speaks a kind return; or lays it soft
Upon the breast which scarcely holds the heart,
That in sweet tumult trembles at the pressure.
| Landscapes in verse | |