  The joys that touched thee once, be mine! The sympathies of sky and sea, The friendship of each rock and pine, That made thy lonely life, ah me! In Tempe or in Gargaphie. Such joy as thou didst feel when first, On some wild crag, thou stood'st alone And watched the mountain tempest burst, With streaming thunder, lightning sown, On Latmos or on Pelion. Thy awe! when crowned with vastness, Night And Silence ruled the deep's abyss; And through dark leaves thou saw'st the white Breasts of the starry maids who kiss Pale feet of moony Artemis. Thy dreams! when, breasting matted weeds Of Arethusa, thou didst hear The music of the wind-swept reeds; And down dim forest-ways drew near Shy herds of slim Arcadian deer. Thy wisdom! that knew naught but love And beauty, with which love is fraught; The wisdom of the heart—whereof All noblest passions spring—that thought As Nature thinks, "All else is naught." Thy hope! wherein To-morrow set No shadow; hope that, lacking care And retrospect, held no regret, But bloomed in rainbows everywhere Filling with gladness all the air. These were thine all: in all life's moods Embracing all of happiness: And when within thy long-loved woods Didst lay thee down to die, no less Thy happiness stood by to bless. |
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