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To F[rances]

1. To F[rances]

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 storms — but where meanwhile 

Serenest skies continually 

Just o’er that one bright island smile. 


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