THOU wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine: A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine. Ah, dream too bright to last! Ah, starry Hope, that didst arise But to be overcast! A voice from out the Future cries, "On! on!"-but o'er the Past {Dim gulf!} my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast. For, alas! alas! with me The light of Life is o'er! No more-no more-no more- {Such language holds the solemn sea To the sands upon the shore} Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree, Or the stricken eagle soar. And all my days are trances, And all my nightly dreams Are where thy gray eye glances, And where thy footstep gleams
( Edgar Allan Poe To One in )
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