C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

To ——

Translation of Thomas Budd Shaw

YES! I remember well our meeting

When first thou dawnedst on my sight,

Like some fair phantom past me fleeting,

Some nymph of purity and light.

By weary agonies surrounded

’Mid toil, ’mid mean and noisy care,

Long in mine ear thy soft voice sounded,

Long dreamed I of thy features fair.

Years flew; Fate’s blast blew ever stronger,

Scattering mine early dreams to air,

And thy soft voice I heard no longer—

No longer saw thy features fair.

In exile’s silent desolation

Slowly dragged on the days for me,—

Orphaned of life, of inspiration,

Of tears, of love, of deity.

I woke: once more my heart was beating—

Once more thou dawnèdst on my sight,

Like some fair phantom past me fleeting,

Some nymph of purity and light.

My heart has found its consolation;

All has revived once more for me,

And vanished life, and inspiration,

And tears, and love, and deity.