Poems of Later Life: To F---
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.
1845.
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