[_Written for the Traveller_.]
The sunset, burning low,
Throws o'er the Charles its flood of golden light.
Dimly, as in a dream, I watch the flow
Of waves of light.
The splendor of the sky
Repeats its glory in the river's flow;
And sculptured angels, on the gray church tower,
Gaze on the world below.
Dimly, as in a dream,
I see the hurrying throng before me pass,
But 'mid them all I only see _one_ face
Under the meadow grass.
Ah, love! I only know
How thoughts of you forever cling to me:
I wonder how the seasons come and go
Beyond the sapphire sea?