Mist

That stole away on such a velvet wing O’er meads and groves, o’er plains and mountain ways, What grief and sorrow to my heart you bring! Come back without the shadow of your care, Come back in silence and without a moan, As the birds cross the unregarding air Till none may tell the whence or whither flown. Come back amid the pallor of the moon That silvers all the azure rifts at sea, Or in the deadly mist that in a swoon Engulfs afar the green palm’s royal tree. Bring back the murmur of the doves that made Their little nests so neighborly to mine; The vibrant airs—the fragrances that played Around the peaks that saw my cradle shine. Sing in my ear the melodies of old, So sweet and joyous to my inmost heart; O faint remembrances two breasts should hold, Two breasts that Destiny was loath to part! What matter if a sigh steals through the dream That shows the withered vine in flower again?— So that remembrances in singing seem, O tremulous lyre, to speak my endless pain!