Chartless in all that wild immensity—
Thy murmuring voice would echo in my soul
Through howling storm or crashing thunder-roll.
If, darling, thou wert but a far-off star,
And I a weary wanderer o’er the plain,
Unwitting of celestial worlds afar,
And knowing naught of all the shining train—
My glance would single out thy ray serene,
Though blazing suns and planets rolled between.
Yet, dear one, thou art these to me, and more: