The voice that charm’d my sorrows knows me not,
The smile that made my life wakes not for me,
Haply such musings shall disown the spot,
That once looked lovely but through light of thee;
Shall anguish curse the unremembering stones,
For that they build no ruinous epitaph?
Or weave still living voices to new groans,
And match with sighs the people’s hollow laugh?
No; rather consecrate thy once abode,
The birth-place, and the altar of love’s prime;
Aye, steal my spirit from beneath its load,
Revisiting the haunts of fairy time:
The shadows of thy steps must leave the impress,
Shall drink the dew, token of bitterness.