Hope said: 'These are the sands that she shall tread
And this the sea whereon her gaze shall rest,
For she shall seek thee in the lordly West.
In yonder woodlands shall her feet be led,
And as a lily shall she lay her head
On thine impassioned and enchanted breast.
She shall know all, and know that love is best,
Beside the ocean when the West is red.'

Aye! so her music trembled at my heart
And built in flame the Garden of my Dream,
And died, and was a portion of the Past;
But ere those wings were lifted to depart,
Her music blossomed to a note supreme—
The cry of famished lips that meet at last.