Floats in sweetness over me;
But the bird sings on the tree,
’Neath the casement blithe and free.
Yes, ’t has vanished into air,
And again comes heavy care—
Would, O, would, that I were there;
So my spirit whispers me,
Longing, mourning but to see,
Land of Poets, only thee;
For I’m lonely, lonely here,