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.



1845.