When twilight dews are falling fast,
Upon the rosy sea;
I watch that star whose beams so oft
Hath lighted me to thee.
And thou, too, one that was so dear,
Ah! dost thou gaze at even,
And think, though lost forever here,
Thou’lt yet be mine in Heaven?
There’s not a garden walk I tread,
There’s not a flower I see—