To-night upon yon leafy isle!
Oft, in my fancy’s wanderings,
I’ve wished that little isle had wings,
And we, within its fairy bowers,
Were wafted off to seas unknown,
Where not a pulse should beat but ours,
And we might live, love, die alone—
Far from the cruel and the cold—
Where the bright eyes of angels only
Should come around us, to behold