Henry Theodore Tuckerman (1813–1871)

O FOR a castle on a woodland height!

High mountains round, and a pure stream below,

Within all charms that tasteful hours invite,

Wise books of poesy and music’s flow;—

A grassy lawn through which to course our steeds,

A gothic chapel in seclusion reared,

Where we could solace find for holiest needs,

And grow by mutual rites the more endeared:

How such captivity alone with thee

Would lift to Paradise each passing day!

Then all revealed my patient love would be,

And thou couldst not a full response delay;

For Truth makes holy Love’s illusive dreams,

And their best promise constantly redeems.