As if it poured from yonder skies, It wears upon its rippling breast The sunset's golden dyes;And bearing onward to the sea, 'T will clasp the isle that holdeth thee.
I dip my hand within the wave;Ah! how impressionless and cold!
I touch it with my lip, and lave My forehead in the gold.
It is a trivial thought, but sweet, Perhaps the wave will kiss thy feet.
Alas! I leave no trace behind --As little on the senseless stream As on thy heart, or on thy mind;Which was the simpler dream, To win that warm, wild love of thine, Or make the water whisper mine?
Dear stream! some moons must wax and wane Ere I again shall cross thy tide, And then, perhaps, a viewless chain Will drag me to her side, To love with all my spirit's scope, To wish, do everything but -- hope.
