There was a flower I pluck'd in my dreams,
Fragrant and fair to see;
Oh, would I had never awoke and found
Such bloom not here for me.

There was a harp, whose magic tone,
Echoed my faintest words—
But Destiny's hand, with a ruthless touch,
Hath rent the golden chords.

There was a path like Eden's vale,
In which I was spell'd to stray,
But Destiny rose with a flaming sword
To guard that path alway.

I've looked on eyes were like the star—
Their light is quench'd for me;
And a soul I have known like the golden harp
That breath'd but melody.

And moments bright as that dream-land
Where bloomed the radiant flower.
Oh! would I had died ere I felt the gloom
Of this dark, joyless hour.

Fatal the time I rais'd mine eyes
To eyes whose light hath blasted—
Yet ere I could turn from their glance away,
Life had with gazing wasted.

Bitter the thought that years may pass—
Yet thus it must be ever,
To look on thy form, to hear thy voice—
But nearer—never, never.

Could I but love as I love the stars,
Or the gush of the twilight breeze,
Or the pale light of the wandering moon
Glancing through forest trees;

With a sinless, calm, untroubled love,
Look upwards and adore—
Could I but thus gaze life away,
Without the wish to soar.

In vain! in vain! I hope, I weep,
I kneel the long nights in prayer—
Oh! better to die in the noon of life,
Than love, and yet despair.