The winds were still, the waters shone
Beneath the May moon; we alone
Upon the rose-twined portico
In silence stood, two years ago.

Her blue-veined hand was clasped in mine,
My pulse leapt as if lashed with wine.
Love, on expression could not wreak
Its passions, though I burned to speak.

Forth, lava-like, at last the gush
Of passionate speech broke on the hush,
And wildly poured upon her ear
The words she feared, yet loved, to hear.

In maiden beauty how she stood,
Fair type of saintly womanhood;
Shine out, sweet stars, on charms divine
And radiantly pure as thine.

The prize was won, the prize is lost;—
It may be weak, but, tempest tossed,
I watch the dim receding shore
From whence I drift forever more.

Tell her, oh! night, if toward the North
Her gentle eyes now wander forth
To find my love's bright symbol there,
Unquenchable amid despair.

The winds are still, the water gleams
Beneath the May moon; but the dreams
I dreamed are gone, and now I know
How blessed I was two years ago.