Like a green island, poised on ocean’s brim,
Seem these last scenes in distance faint and dim;
The swift, deep gulf my helmless bark floats o’er
Still bears me further from that lovely shore;
I stretch my arms, I shriek, but dark and strong
Rolls the wild flood of destiny along—
Oh, there are hours of rapture buried there
That envying angels might have longed to share!
Dear hours of love! delusive if thou wilt,
But wild with passion—stained perchance with guilt;