Filled every heart she smiled on with sweet calm,
Like some Tyrolean melody of love,
Heard on an Alpine path at close of day
When homing shepherds pipe to tinkling flocks:
Being with you a while, so, when she left,—
How shall I say it?—'twas as when one hath
Beheld an Undine on the moonlit Rhine,
Who, ere the mind adjusts a thought, is gone,
And to the soul it seems it was a dream.
Some thirty years ago it was;—and I,