You were that all to me, love,
For which my soul did pine—
A green isle in the sea, love,
A fountain and a shrine,
All wreathed with fruits and flowers,
And all the flowers were mine.

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Ah, dream too bright to last!
Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise
But to be overcast!
A voice from out the Future cries,
My spirit hovering lies
Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me
The light of Life is o’er!
Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!