An Evening Thought - Written At Sea

If sometimes in the dark blue eye,     Or in the deep red wine,     Or soothed by gentlest melody,     Still warms this heart of mine,     Yet something colder in the blood,     And calmer in the brain,     Have whispered that my youth's bright flood     Ebbs, not to flow again.     If by Helvetia's azure lake,     Or Arno's yellow stream,     Each star of memory could awake,     As in my first young dream,     I know that when mine eye shall greet     The hillsides bleak and bare,     That gird my home, it will not meet     My childhood's sunsets there.     Oh, when love's first, sweet, stolen kiss     Burned on my boyish brow,     Was that young forehead worn as this?     Was that flushed cheek as now?     Were that wild pulse and throbbing heart     Like these, which vainly strive,     In thankless strains of soulless art,     To dream themselves alive?     Alas! the morning dew is gone,     Gone ere the full of day;     Life's iron fetter still is on,     Its wreaths all torn away;     Happy if still some casual hour     Can warm the fading shrine,     Too soon to chill beyond the power     Of love, or song, or wine!