I long for a clasp of my father’s hand,
And the welcome strain of that sister band,
And the love-lit glance of my brother’s eye,
Would waken my soul to ecstasy.
I have sped me back from the India grove,
With the shells and birds that my kindred love;
I have brought the gems for my maiden’s hair,
To shine like the silver starlets there,
The pearl from the sea-cave’s calm retreat,
I have borne it home, with a footstep fleet,