Sometimes she is a child within mine arms,
  Cow'ring beneath dark wings that love must chase,
  With still tears show'ring and averted face,
Inexplicably filled with faint alarms:
And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms
  I crave the refuge of her deep embrace, --
  Against all ills the fortified strong place
And sweet reserve of sov'reign counter-charms.

And Love, our light at night and shade at noon,
  Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away
  All shafts of shelterless tumultuous day.
Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune;
And as soft waters warble to the moon,
  Our answ'ring spirits chime one roundelay.