The guardian spirit of the place was love;
I left it there, nor will it thence remove.
Well, as I said, it came; the zephyr’s breath
Came to my pillow from the far off west;
Twas a long journey through a world of death,
But, till it reach’d me, would it take no rest,
That messenger of love;—all spent it came;
A dying zephyr to a dying frame.
I felt the faint breeze wand’ring o’er my cheek,
Then sank to sleep; and as I slept, I dream’d;