When thou at eventide art roaming
     Along the elm-o'ershadow'd walk,
Where fast the eddying stream is foaming,
     And falling down, —a cataract, —
     'Twas there with thee I wont to talk ;
Think thou upon the days gone by,
          And heave a sigh.

When sails the moon above the mountains,
     And cloudless skies are purely blue,
And sparkle in her light the fountains,
     And darker frowns the lonely yew,
     Then be thou melancholy too,
While pausing on the hours I proved
          With thee, beloved.

When wakes the dawn upon thy dwelling,
     And lingering shadows disappear,
As soft the woodland songs are swelling,
     Achoral anthem, on thine ear,
     - Muse, for that hour to thought is dear,
And then its flight remembrance wings
          To by-past things.

To me, through every season, dearest ; —
     In every scene, by day—by night,
     Thou, present to my mind, appearest
Aquenchless star, for ever bright ;
     My solitary, sole delight—
Where'er I am, by shore-at sea,—
          I think of thee !