Like spring’s first wakening! But that light was past—
—Where went the dewdrop swept before the blast?
‘Not where thy soft winds play’d,
Not where thy waters lay in glassy sleep!—
Fade with thy bowers, thou land of visions! fade!
From thee no voice came o’er the gloomy deep,
And bade man cease to weep!
Fade, with the amaranth plain, the myrtle grove,
Which could not yield one hope to sorrowing love!
‘For the most loved are they