Love oped a vista rare with stars
That overshone a dewy height;
Glad-Heart enwrapt in dreams, saw naught
Save radiance and bloom and light.
The fairest dove sang in the boughs
The sweetest songs that e'er were heard;
Glad-Heart strayed reckless down the glade,
Lured strangely by the cooing bird.
Yes! strangely lured, till suddenly
The dove did moan and wail, and lo!
The stars went out in darkness: all
Was bitterness and gloom and woe.
Ah! haste, Glad-Heart, go back, go back!
The vistas are not bloomy now;
Veiled is the dewy height: henceforth
Unto the tempest bare thy brow.
Yet sweet, sweet dove, when life is drear,
Come chant again that dreamy lay;
O tender Love, send shining stars.
To light her soul, once more, some day.