Remembering thee, I search out these faint flowers
Of rhyme; remembering thee, this crescent night
While o’er the buds and o’er the grass-blades, bright
And clinging with the dew of odorous showers,
With purple sandals sweep the grave-eyed hours—
Remembering thee, I muse, while fades in flight
The honey-hearted leisure of the light,
And hanging o’er the hush of willow bowers,
Of ceaseless loneliness and high regret
Sings the young wistful spirit of a star
Enfolden in the shadows of the East,
And silence holding revelry and feast;
Just now my soul rose up and touched it, far
In space, made equal with a sigh, we met.