From the last hour thy brow to my bosom was prest,
Have thy tones and thy form been a shrine in my breast;
Thou hast haunted my steps when the breathings of spring,
The light swallow and bee to the water-brink bring;
In the calm of the hills, by the blue rushing streams,
I have gazed in thine eye through the mist of my dreams;
Thou art come with the storm and the banners of night,
Pale Inez, the love of my youth, my delight!
Like a wreck from the wave, like a shade from the tomb,
Thou art now at my side, and thy step in my room,