And our tumultuous hearts should die,
In that wild dream of ecstasy.
I clasped you to my bosom there,
I played with your dishevell'd hair;
And then the thoughts which long had slept
Within us, waken'd; and we wept.
We wept to think of what had past—
The doubt—the trial—joy at last—
We wept to think of mournful fears—
We wept to hail the future years.