 | Denzil place |  |
131
I look and long with tearful eyes
For what will come to me no more,
The summer warmth of southern skies,
The sunny waves that rise and swell
And seem to me at times as near
As those that echo in a shell
Held to a child's attentive ear,
Oh, lost and lov'd! The magic thread
That binds my heart to scenes like these
Shines not alone from radiance shed
Thro' golden fruited orange-trees,
The murmur of that tideless sea,
The odour of those thousand flow'rs
Alone, had never lent to me
This day-dream of delicious hours!
Ah, thou wert there . . . ! Dear sunny clime
In which we lived our happy day,
No changes wrought by tide or time
Can steal thy borrow'd charms away!
For, turning back to Love and thee
These dismal hours reflect again
The radiance of that summer-sea
And dull the anguish of my pain.
Dear Land of Love! I sometimes dream
That I, unlov'd, am wand'ring there,
And wonder if its groves would seem
As fragrant, or its skies as fair—
I wonder too, if this dim light
This mock'ry of a summer sun,
Might not appear to me more bright
If shared by that belovèd one?
132
After this faded sun has set,
When thro' the window, open wide,
I breathe the scented mignionette
And all the flow'rs thou loved'st so well,
The clematis and violet,
And drooping yellow asphodel,
Then mem'ry whispers to my heart
Of all the joys denied to me,
And wheresoever love, thou art
I fain would go and dwell with thee!
| Denzil place | |