Is there no voice whose kind, awakening tone
A sense of spring-time in thy heart hath made?
No eye whose glance thy daydreams would recall?
—Think—wouldst thou part with all?
Fill with forgetfulness! There are, there are
Voices whose music I have loved too well—
Eyes of deep gentleness; but they are far—
Never! oh never, in my home to dwell!
Take their soft looks from off my yearning soul—
Fill high th’ oblivious bowl!