Thou charmer rare of life’s enchanted spring!
Fair were the scenes thy radiant pencil drew,
When on my eyes the early beauty broke:
And thy rich-ringing lyre, when life was new,
A glowing rapture in my bosom woke.
Then thy gay sister Fancy made my dreams
Lovely, and lightsome as the summer-hours,
And in her fairy loom wrought hues and gleams
That clothed the Ideal in a robe of flowers.
Now, thou hast vanished from my yearning sight —