A dream of what would soon befall.
I went to toil—far from her sight,
Far from her blessed voice away—
But still she haunted me by night,
Still murmured in my ears by day.
The hours flew by in dreams of her,
Those hours which claimed far other care,
I wasted them—fond worshiper—
In dreams, whose waking was despair!
A month—no, not a month,—by Heaven!