 | Idyls and Songs |  |
‘I little thought, when first in youth I met thee,
Thou e'er wouldst be to me what now thou art:
That all the summon'd effort to forget thee
Could not efface thee from the heart of heart,
Since first I met thee.
Thou e'er wouldst be to me what now thou art:
That all the summon'd effort to forget thee
Could not efface thee from the heart of heart,
Since first I met thee.
‘O bitter draught of sweetest recollection
That with each thought of thee the soul must drain!
Lost Eden, wither'd by the world's infection;
Soul, yielded up to waste herself in vain,
Since first I met thee.
That with each thought of thee the soul must drain!
Lost Eden, wither'd by the world's infection;
Soul, yielded up to waste herself in vain,
Since first I met thee.
‘Thou art my second self:—where'er I wander,
Thy sad sweet presence with my journeying speeds;
And my fond heart has ever grown still fonder,
Tho' each new day, I know, new severance breeds
Since first I met thee.
Thy sad sweet presence with my journeying speeds;
And my fond heart has ever grown still fonder,
Tho' each new day, I know, new severance breeds
Since first I met thee.
‘Thy form was by me on the path-seam'd mountains;
Thy presence in the green leaves of the glen;
Thy name was whisper'd in the rustling fountains;
Thy voice in evening gales again, again,
Since first I met thee.
Thy presence in the green leaves of the glen;
Thy name was whisper'd in the rustling fountains;
Thy voice in evening gales again, again,
Since first I met thee.
‘Where should I turn me? where should I betake me?
One reckless hour has spoil'd the golden year;
The flowers and fruits of love at once forsake me;
All things are bitterest that were then most dear
When first I met thee.’
One reckless hour has spoil'd the golden year;
The flowers and fruits of love at once forsake me;
All things are bitterest that were then most dear
When first I met thee.’
| Idyls and Songs | |