The melody this bird of passion uttered
Coloured the firmament where all thoughts are:
As in the characters a poet’s hand
Has traced, there lie—for poets understand—
Heart-thrills that shoot through blackness like a star.
And so, as summer eve will sweetly soften
The wayward thoughts of all who forth may fare,
To me there came the spirit who haunts not often
My heart for sorrow of the sadness there:
But now her face was lit with joy, her eyes