TO F——

     BELOVED! amid the earnest woes
         That crowd around my earthly path—
     (Drear path, alas! where grows
     Not even one lonely rose)—
         My soul at least a solace hath
     In dreams of thee, and therein knows
     An Eden of bland repose.

     And thus thy memory is to me
         Like some enchanted far-off isle
     In some tumultuos sea—
     Some ocean throbbing far and free
         With storms—but where meanwhile
     Serenest skies continually
         Just o’re that one bright island smile.