Page:Poems of Sentiment and Imagination.djvu/181

Rh I left the crowded halls, whose beings rare
 * But made me sigh for my own perfect bride.

Then in each lovely clime I wandered long,
 * With thoughts to meet her in some land of flowers—

Perchance, in 'Italy's bright land of song,'
 * Or 'neath the starry blossoms of Spain's bowers.

I never wandered where the skies were bright,
 * Or where the roses seemed to be more fair.

Nor stood where ruined fanes rose on the sight;
 * Nor thrilled to gaze upon some sunset rare.

Nor climbed to some sublime or dizzy height.
 * Nor marked a river rolling in its pride,

Nor mused on the still splendor of the night.
 * But that I wished thee, sweet one, at my side.

Three years stole down into my spirit's halls,
 * Bringing rich jewels on their flowing dress.

And made them there a home, whose pictured walls
 * Glowed with the rarest tints of loveliness.

Soft skies, and tinted clouds, and golden air,
 * And shadowy haunts, and dimpled waves of light,

And scenes of deep sublimity were there,
 * Mingled with broken gleams of all things bright.

And that one image! but its counterpart
 * I sought for vainly in each sunny spot;

Yet with a deeper feeling my wild heart
 * Clung to the thought that would not be forgot.

Then homeward to my own sweet land I turned—
 * Blessed be the stars that light it from above!

Blessed every heart which ever toward it yearned.
 * For here I met thee, sweet spirit-love!

And when I saw thee, heard thee, clasped thee first—
 * Held thee, thyself, unto my thrilling breast,

The wild delirium of joy that burst
 * Upon my soul, words never have expressed!