E’en now o’er thine aspect swift changes pass,
Like lights and shades over wavy grass:
Tremblest thou, Dreamer? O love and grief!
Ye have storms that shake e’en the closed-up leaf!
On thy parted lips there’s a quivering thrill,
As on a lyre ere its chords are still;
On the long silk lashes that fringe thine eye,
There’s a large tear gathering heavily—
A rain from the clouds of thy spirit press’d:
Sorrowful Dreamer! this is not rest!