The thought of thee is like a swinging tune,
A little swinging tune I seem to hear;
The thought of thee is like the breeze of June
Blowing across the winter of the year!

The thought of thee is like a golden star
Set all alone within the midnight blue;-
A heaven-lit candle shining from afar
Upon the road that we are passing through.

The thought of thee is like the woods in spring,
With silver-grey and silver-green o'erset;
The thought of thee is what the four winds bring
Over the banks of wild-blown mignonette.

And all the music of the twilight sea,
Echoes thy voice in tender undertone;
The sea-gulls seem but grey-winged thoughts of thee,
Caught on the salted wing and homeward blown!

God keeps the secret of His heaven well,-
But Azrael finds its gates, where'er they be;
And from the earth, to fields of Asphodel,
I build a bridge of dreams, and cross to thee.