And thy eye was like the star whose beam
We saw on the still wave shine.
But the bright star-beam has left the stream,
And the nights return no more
When our hearts were warm and, arm in arm,
We strayed by the moonlit shore.
The nights are o’er when, by the shore,
We strayed—thy arm in mine,
And thy tones were heard where the wind-harp’s chord
Is the bough that the June-flowers twine.