Fairer than any flower
Of summer's hour,
Sweeter than any love-
Ay, sweet in truth! -
Of her what shall be said?
Hope, that is dead!
Fair Hope, that garlanded,
Fair Hope that led and fed
The dreams of youth.

What song is sweet enough
To sing of her?
What murmur of the dove,
What cooing note thereof,
To breath the memories
That cling to her?
Hope, brave and strong!
Hope sweeter than all song,
What song is sweet enough
To sing of her!

How weary are the ways
Unto our feet!
O, lagging length of days
That once were fleet!
O, barren of all grace,
Life, that she made so sweet!

Hidden from moon and star,
She that was fairer far
To look upon!
Not where the roses are,
But where slow waters sweep
To the great deep;
Where only shadows wan,
And rain may fall thereon,
But never the warm sun.