When on my lyre I touch the strings apart
In search of melody serene and rare,
Her memory comes stealing o'er my heart
And gentle thoughts in thousands gather there.

Her image floats before me in a glance
Of golden wonder hovering at my eyes;
An atmosphere delirious would entrance
My soul with perfumes out of Paradise.

The sparkle of her glances sets aflame
The hearth-place of the inmost of my soul;
It glows with inspiration; strings acclaim;
The chant begins and swells beyond control.

Then as the radiant vision dies away,
As melts afar some white cloud full of dew,
My verses through my mind begin to play,
And on the page my pen would catch a few.