An Evening Thought

WRITTEN AT SEA IF sometimes in the dark blue eye, Or in the deep red wine, Or soothed by gentlest melody, Still warms this heart of mine, Yet something colder in the blood, And calmer in the brain, Have whispered that my youth's bright flood Ebbs, not to flow again. If by Helvetia's azure lake, Or Arno's yellow stream, Each star of memory could awake, As in my first young dream, I know that when mine eye shall greet The hillsides bleak and bare, That gird my home, it will not meet My childhood's sunsets there. Oh, when love's first, sweet, stolen kiss Burned on my boyish brow, Was that young forehead worn as this? Was that flushed cheek as now? Were that wild pulse and throbbing heart Like these, which vainly strive, In thankless strains of soulless art, To dream themselves alive? Alas! the morning dew is gone, Gone ere the full of day; Life's iron fetter still is on, Its wreaths all torn away; Happy if still some casual hour Can warm the fading shrine, Too soon to chill beyond the power Of love, or song, or wine!