When later, from a lover doomed to part,
Past those dear hours when by the shade we met,
When his last kiss resounded to the heart
That ’neath his hand’s fond pressure, trembled yet—
The self-same voice, deep in my bosom pleading,
Rang in mine ear with still entrancing power;
’Twas not his tone, ’twas not his step receding—
Nor lovers’ echoed songs in trelliced bower;—
My guardian genius! Oh! the voice was thine!
’Twas thou, whose spirit communed still with mine!