What joy to think, perchance some future day,
Those looks would dwell on thee again, and greet
The buds expanding, and thy new sprung leaves!
Thou, Poetry, in absence wert a chain,
Binding our hearts together: where so well
As in thy numbers, could I pour my soul,
In soothing tenderness? 'twas bliss, to make
Thought visible to those of whom I thought.
Now that enchantment over, thy slight bark
Adventures in a wide and perilous sea;
Dark are the waves around thy fragile skiff;
Unskilful is the hand which pilots thee;
And few have ever reach'd thy destin'd shore.
I part from thee, as I should part from one
Whom I may wish, not hope, to see again.
Fondly, and fearfully, farewell to thee,
Sweet sojourner, so long my bosom guest!
Perhaps a long, perhaps a last farewell!
