MY IDEAL.
She came: she went: ’twas all a dream,
A groundless hope, a barren scheme;
And yet a dearer dream did seem
Than ever made a dawn seem drear.
She tuned sweet music in my breast,
Till every sad or joyous guest,
That sway’d it once, with wondering rest,
Grew hush’d as hate when heaven is near.
She came: she went: a beam sublime
That, straying toward a sunless clime,
Trembled along the edge of Time
And then in fright sped back amain.
Ah, wherefore came she if to go!
I had not known the half of woe
Had I not felt that heavenly glow,
And, match’d with it, found earth so vain.
She came: she went: I know I dream’d;
Nor dared to test fond hopes that gleam’d;
But yet how dear the future seem’d,
And, though it was the world, how real!
Ah, wherefore did she leave so soon,
And change to night what had been noon!
Did Heaven sufficient deem the boon
To grant to me a form ideal?