The pilgrim heart, to whom a dream was given.
That led her through the world,—Love’s worshipper,—
To seek on earth for him whose home was heaven!
“In the full city,—by the haunted fount,—
Through the dim grotto’s tracery of spars,—
’Mid the pine temples, on the moonlit mount,
Where silence sits to listen to the stars;
In the deep glade where dwells the brooding dove,
The painted valley, and the scented air,
She heard far echoes of the voice of Love,