| |
| ONCE more, once more, my Mary dear, | |
| I sit by that lone stream, | |
| Where first within thy timid ear | |
| I breathed love’s burning dream. | |
| The birds we loved still tell their tale | 5 |
| Of music, on each spray, | |
| And still the wild-rose decks the vale— | |
| But thou art far away. | |
| |
| In vain thy vanished form I seek, | |
| By wood and stream and dell, | 10 |
| And tears of anguish bathe my cheek | |
| Where tears of rapture fell; | |
| And yet beneath these wild-wood bowers | |
| Dear thoughts my soul employ, | |
| For in the memories of past hours | 15 |
| There is a mournful joy. | |
| |
| Upon the air thy gentle words | |
| Around me seemed to thrill, | |
| Like sounds upon the wind-harp’s chords | |
| When all the winds are still, | 20 |
| Or like the low and soul-like swell | |
| Of that wild spirit-tone, | |
| Which haunts the hollow of the bell | |
| When its sad chime is done. | |
| |
| I seem to hear thee speak my name | 25 |
| In sweet low murmurs now; | |
| I seem to feel thy breath of flame | |
| Upon my cheek and brow; | |
| On my cold lips I feel thy kiss, | |
| Thy heart to mine is laid— | 30 |
| Alas, that such a dream of bliss | |
| Like other dreams must fade! | |
| |
