Thou wast all that to me, love,

        For which my soul did pine —

A green isle in the sea, love,

        A fountain and a shrine,

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers,

        And all the flowers were mine.

Ah, dream too bright to last!

        Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise

But to be overcast!

        A voice from out the Future cries,

“On! on!” – but o’er the Past

        (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies

Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me

        The light of Life is o’er!

        No more – no more – no more —

(Such language holds the solemn sea

        To the sands upon the shore)

Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,

        Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,

        And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy dark eye glances,

        And where thy footstep gleams —

In what ethereal dances,

        By what eternal streams.

Alas! for that accursed time

        They bore thee o’er the billow

From me – to titled age and crime

        And an unholy pillow —

From Love and from our misty clime

        Where weeps the silver willow.