University of Virginia Library

III.

Now fair thou art,
Thou form, whose life is of my burning heart

163

Yet all the vision that within me wrought,
I cannot make thee! Oh! I might have given
Birth to creations of far nobler thought;
I might have kindled, with the fire of heaven,
Things not of such as die! But I have been
Too much alone;—a heart whereon to lean,
With all these deep affections that o'erflow
My aching soul and find no shore below;
An eye to be my star; a voice to bring
Hope o'er my path like sounds that breathe of spring:
These are denied me—dreamt of still in vain—
Therefore my brief aspirings from the chain,
Are ever but as some wild fitful song,
Rising triumphantly, to die erelong
In dirge-like echoes.