Sweet Eva! Shall I send thee forth
With other hearts to speak?
With all thy timidness and love,
Companionship to seek?
Send thee with all thy abstract ways,
Thy more than earthly tone -
An exile, dearest, send the forth,
Thou, who art all mine own!

Thou art my spirit's cherished dream,
Its pure ideal birth;
And thou hast nestled in my heart,
With love that's not of earth,
Alas! For I have failed, methinks,
Thy mystic life to trace;
Thy holiness of thought and soul,
Thy wild enchanting grace.

With thee I've wandered, cherished one,
At twilight's dreary hour
To learn the language of the bird,
The mystery of the flower;
And gloomy must that sorrow be,
Which thou could'st not dispel,
As thoughtfully we loitered on
By stream or sheltered dell.

Thou fond Ideal! vital made
The trusting, earnest, true;
Who fostered, sacred, undefiled
My heart's poor youthful dew;
Thou woman - soul, all tender, meek,
Thou wilt not leave me now
To bear alone the weary thoughts
That stamp an aching brow!

Yet go! I may not say farewell,
For thou wilt not forsake,
Thou'lt linger, Eva, wilt thou not,
All hallowed thoughts to wake?
Then go; and speak to kindred hearts
In purity and truth,
And win the spirit back again,
To Love, and Peace and Youth.