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.