To F--
Beloved! amid the earnest woesThat crowd around my earthly path--(Drear path, alas! where growsNot even one lonely rose)--My soul at least a solace hathIn dreams of thee, and therein knowsAn Eden of bland repose.
And thus thy memory is to meLike some enchanted far-off isleIn some tumultuous sea--Some ocean throbbing far and freeWith storm--but where meanwhileSerenest skies continuallyJust o'er that one bright inland smile.
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