Cam'st thou a star-beam to our shadowed earth?
What hadst thou done, sweet spirit! in that sphere,
That thou wert banished here?
Here, where our blossoms early fade and die,
Where autumn frosts despoil our loveliest bowers;
Where song goes up to heaven, an anguished cry
From wounded hearts, like perfume from crushed flowers;
Where Love despairing waits, and weeps in vain
His Psyche to regain.
Thou cam'st not unattended on thy way;