Beloved! amid the earnest woes
    That crowd around my earthly path--
(Drear path, alas! where grows
Not even one lonely rose)--
    My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of bland repose.

And thus thy memory is to me
    Like some enchanted far-off isle
In some tumultuous sea--
Some ocean throbbing far and free
    With storm--but where meanwhile
Serenest skies continually
    Just o'er that one bright inland smile.