May clothe them in the azure of the sky,
Or shroud their light wings in the moon’s pale ray;
Or, in the likeness of some mutual star,
Smile on repentant tears and soothe our mental war.
And art thou present in this solitude,
Thou early, only loved, sweet beam of youth?
Thou fairest of all Memory’s sisterhood,
Bright as a poet’s dream, and pure as Truth!
Fair guardian spirit, thou art with me now—
It is, it is thy sigh, which stirs the rustling bough!