With the sick feeling that in his far sphere
My love could be as nothing! But he spoke—
How shall I tell thee of the startling thrill
In that low voice, whose breezy tones could fill
My bosom’s infinite? O friend! I woke
Then first to heavenly life! Soft, solemn, clear,
Breathed the mysterious accents on mine ear,
Yet strangely seem’d as if the while they rose
From depths of distance, o’er the wide repose
Of slumbering waters wafted, or the dells