THY memory as a spell
Of love comes o'er my mind;
As dew upon the purple bell,
As perfume on the wind,
As music on the sea,
As sunshine on the river,
So hath it always been to me,
So shall it be forever.

I hear thy voice in dreams
Upon me softly call,
Like echo of the mountain streams
In sportive waterfall.
I see thy form as when
Thou wert a living thing,
And blossomed in the eyes of men,
Like any flower of spring.

Thy soul to heaven hath fled,
From earthly thraldom free;
Yet 'tis not as the dead
That thou appear'st to me.
In slumber I behold
Thy form, as when on earth;
Thy locks of waving gold,
Thy Sapphire eye of mirth.

I hear, in solitude,
The prattle kind and free
Thou utteredst in joyful mood
While seated on my knee.
So strong each vision seems,
My spirit that doth fill,
I think not they are dreams,
But that thou livest still.