My life had found her maiden-wise,

And sweeter than the rose's breath;

Lit by a soul in paradise

The lights within her holy eyes,

The lady loved of death ...

Bereft, forlorn, by passion driven,

And blanched with loss, by suffering riven,

With impious heart I fled from Heaven ...

Thought like a frost gripped all the brain:

With frozen tears opprest,

The conscious blood with sullen pain

Lunged at the callous breast,

Where hope and love, a pallid twain,

Sat with a ghoul for guest.

Over the watery wastes I fled

Where'er dim desolation led

Beneath sad sun and moon!

For faith was dead, and joy was dead,

And love was where the phantoms tread,

And bitterness was passion's bread:

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