Revolving ’mid circles of systems afar,
Than the moonlight of mind, with works evermore
Conflicting with nature on error’s dark shore;
Or the dream of thy mind, or the fear of the knell,
Which comes to thy soul from the sad, tolling bell.
Away, far away, from my beautiful bower,
Thy strength thou art wasting with thy weary hour,
Where the sweet song of heaven dispels not thy fear,
Nor the angels of mercy away chase thy tear;
Though one thou hast lov’d with the love of true joy,