Here, where this lonely palm expands its leaves,
Our couch was spread; yes, here, on Theseus’ breast
I laid my head, and, like a love-sick dove, sunk meaningly to rest.
My sleep was restless: from the Realm of Dreams
Came changing shadows: I beheld my home —
Our hills, like wrinkle-faced, white-headed men—our cataract’s snowy foam.
I saw myself a merry, mad-cap girl,
Dancing along our glades, with laughing eyes;
Light-footed as our deer—free as the birds that filled our happy skies.
And then a woman, still most happy, though