My faint spirit was sitting in the light
  Of thy looks, my love;
It panted for thee like the hind at noon
  For the brooks, my love.
Thy barb, whose hoofs outspeed the tempest's flight,
  Bore thee far from me;
My heart, for my weak feet were weary soon,
  Did companion thee.

Ah! fleeter far than fleetest storm or steed,
  Or the death they bear,
The heart which tender thought clothes like a dove
  With the wings of care;
In the battle, in the darkness, in the need,
  Shall mine cling to thee,
Nor claim one smile for all the comfort, love,
  It may bring to thee.