Thoughts of Thee

As the wild-bird, when the spring-flowerCometh back once more,Seeketh the same greenwood bowerIt had loved before;So my memory never losethIts sad dream of thee;But my heart around it closeth,Fondly, mournfully.

It doth bide with me forever,Waking or asleep—Murmuring like some mournful river,Low, and wild, and deep.Every thing that's good and lovely,All fair things I see,Do like hidden music move me,With sad dreams of thee.

Summer clouds are beautiful,And sunny spots in groves;And the gushing of a waterfallHath a melting voice like love's;And the young moon hath a witcheryNo tongue hath ever told,As she looketh down in purity,So bright, and fair, and cold.

But my heart forgets its dreaminess,Its once so frequent thrill;And gazeth upon lovelinessWith pulses strangely still.I can not tear myself away,I can not break the spell;But it doth strengthen day by day,Repulse it as I will.

For there was not the smallest thingThat was admired by thee,To which my spirit does not clingWatchfully, tenderly.I sit beneath the evening sky,And look upon the moon,And the fitful breeze comes flutt'ring by,With a low and hollow tune;

And I see our beacon star come up,And rise above the trees,And the dew is in the Iris' cup,But what to me are these?I know thou wilt not come again,As was thy wont of old;And I press my burning brow in pain,And wish the night were told:

For the moonlight teems with memory,And the stars burn on my sight;And every thing doth talk of thee,In the stillness of the night.In dreams I sometimes see thy face,But nothing kind is there;I meet thy mute, forgetful gaze,With still but deep despair.

The sunliglit is too bright for me,And pleasant days seem long;Laughter is but a mockery,And the voice of happy song.I do not weep, but crush my heart,That I may seem to beUnwounded by the poison dartThat was prepared for me.

My spirit walks the earth apart,Weary and alone,And not a chord in all my heart,But hath a broken tone.The chords that once so wildly rungTo mirth and melody,Are silent now, or only strungTo mournful thoughts of thee