Beautiful girl, ’tis a weary year
Since thy sweet voice fell on my ravished ear.
’Tis a long, long year of light and gloom
Since I gazed on thy young cheek’s lovely bloom—
Yet thy gentle tones of music still
Through the holiest depths of memory thrill
Like tones of a fount, or breeze, or bird,
In the long gone years of childhood heard.
And oft in my dark and lonely moods,
When a demon-wing o’er my spirit broods,