Thy ecstasy erst wrought in accents wild;
Within my soul there breathes an anguish'd wail,
Unsoothed by resignation mild.
I would not, if I might, give back the joy
That sweeps my pulses with enraptured thrill;
In transports pure the moments cannot cloy—
My craving lingers still.
Nor time may rend the tie;
The fealty that holds the captive will
In potent thrall, if sever'd soon,