If thou be in a lonely place,
⁠If one hour's calm be thine,
As Evening bends her placid face
⁠O'er this sweet day's decline;
If all the earth and all the heaven
⁠Now look serene to thee,
As o'er them shuts the summer even,
⁠One moment—think of me!

Pause, in the lane, returning home;
⁠'Tis dusk, it will be still:
Pause near the elm, a sacred gloom
⁠Its breezeless boughs will fill.
Look at that soft and golden light,
⁠High in the unclouded sky;
Watch the last bird's belated flight,
⁠As it flits silent by.

Hark! for a sound upon the wind,
⁠A step, a voice, a sigh;
If all be still, then yield thy mind,
⁠Unchecked, to memory.
If thy love were like mine, how blest
⁠That twilight hour would seem,
When, back from the regretted Past,
⁠Returned our early dream!
If thy love were like mine, how wild
⁠Thy longings, even to pain,
For sunset soft, and moonlight mild,
⁠To bring that hour again!
But oft, when in thine arms I lay,
⁠I've seen thy dark eyes shine,
And deeply felt, their changeful ray
⁠Spoke other love than mine.

My love is almost anguish now,
⁠It beats so strong and true;
'Twere rapture, could I deem that thou
⁠Such anguish ever knew.
I have been but thy transient flower,
⁠Thou wert my god divine;
Till, checked by death's congealing power,
⁠This heart must throb for thine.

And well my dying hour were blest,
⁠If life's expiring breath
Should pass, as thy lips gently prest
⁠My forehead, cold in death;
And sound my sleep would be, and sweet,
⁠Beneath the churchyard tree,
If sometimes in thy heart should beat
⁠One pulse, still true to me.