Still Thou Fliest

Still thou fliest, and still I woo thee,
Lovely phantom, — all in vain;
Restless ever, my thoughts pursue thee,
Fleeting ever, thou mock'st their pain.
Such doom, of old, that youth betided,
Who wooed, he thought, some angel's charms,
But found a cloud that from him glided, —
As thou dost from these out stretched arms.

Scarce I 've said, " How fair thou shinest, "
Ere thy light hath vanished by;
And 't is when thou look'st divinest
Thou art still most sure to fly.
Even as the lightning, that, dividing
The clouds of night, saith, " Look on me, "
Then flits again, its splendor hiding, —
Even such the glimpse I catch of thee.
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