Or changed in every chord since he is gone—
Feeling all this, even yet, by many a token,
O thou, the deeply, but the brightly lone!
I call thee bless’d!
For in thy heart there is a holy spot,
As mid the waste an isle of fount and palm,
For ever green!—the world’s breath enters not,
The passion-tempests may not break its calm:
’Tis thine, all thine!
Thither, in trust unbaffled, may’st thou turn