To Egeria

Leagues of blue ocean are between us spread;And I cannot behold thee, save in dreams!I cannot hear the music round thee shed,I do not see the light that from thee gleams.Fairest and best! 'mid summer joys, ah, say,Dost thou e'er think of one, who thinks of thee---Th' Atlantic-wanderer---who, day by day,Looks for thy image in the deep, deep sea?Long months, and years perchance, may pass away,Ere he shall gaze upon thy face again;He cannot know what rocks and quicksands layBefore him, on the Future's shipless main;But, thanked be Memory! there are treasures still,Which the triumphant mind holds subject to its will.