Mary, amid the cares--the woes
Crowding around my earthly path,
(Sad path, alas! where grows
Not ev'n one lonely rose,)
My soul at least a solace hath
In dreams of thee, and therein knows
An Eden of sweet repose.
And thus thy memory is to me
Like some enchanted, far-off isle,
In some tumultuous sea--
Some lake beset as lake can be
With storms--but where, meanwhile,
Serenest skies continually
Just o'er that one bright island smile.