For thee, for thee, my spirit’s lord, I die!”
THE HOME OF LOVE.
Thou mov’st in visions, Love! Around thy way,
E’en through this world’s rough path and changeful day,
For ever floats a gleam—
Not from the realms of moonlight or the morn,
But thine own soul’s illumined chambers born—
The colouring of a dream!
Love! shall I read thy dream? Oh! is it not
All of some sheltering wood-embosom’d spot—