Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/253

Rh

Again I must listen thy gentle tone, And make its echo in music my own; Again I must look on thy smile divine, Again I must see the red flowers twine Around my harp, enwreathed by thine hand, And waken its chords at my love's command.— I have dwelt in a distant but lovely place, And worshipped many a radiant face; And sipped the flowers from the purple wine, But they were not so sweet as one kiss of thine. I have wandered o'er land, I have wandered o'er sea, But my heart has ne'er wandered,, from thee.— And,, my own, my glorious land! I will take no laurel but from thy hand. What is the light of a poet's name, If it is not his country that hallows his fame?