Beauty beloved, who hast my heart inspired, Seen from afar, or with thy face concealed, Save, when in visions of the night revealed, Or seen in daydreams bright, To see thee e'er alive, No hope remains to me; Unless perchance, when from this body free, My wandering spirit, lone, O'er some new path, to some new world hath flown. E'en here, at first, I, at the dawn Of this, my day, so dreary and forlorn, Sought thee, to guide me on my weary way: But none on earth resembles thee. E'en if One were in looks and acts and words thy peer, Though like thee, she less lovely would appear. Amidst the deepest grief That fate hath e'er to human lot assigned, Could one but love thee on this earth, Alive, and such as my thought painteth thee, He would be happy in his misery: And I most clearly see, how, still, Along the valleys where is heard The song of the laborious husbandman, And where I sit and moan O'er youth's illusions gone; Along the hills, where I recall with tears, The vanished joys and hopes of earlier years, At thought of thee, my heart revives again. O could I still thy image dear retain, In this dark age, and in this baleful air! To loss of thee, O let me be resigned, And in thy image still some comfort find! If thou art one of those Ideas eternal, which the Eternal Mind Refused in earthly form to clothe, Nor would subject unto the pain and strife Of this, our frail and dreary life; Or if thou hast a mansion fair, Amid the boundless realms of space, That lighted is by a more genial sun, |