Now withered leans within the glooms.—
Why must I walk here? seek and seek
Her, long since gone?—Still bower on bower
The roses climb in blushing flower.—
Ah, 'mid the roses could I see
Her eyes, her sad eyes, shine like flowers,
Or like the dew that lies for hours
Within their hearts, then it might be
I might find comfort here, although
Wistful, as if reproaching me,