Rosalie

O, pour upon my soul again That sad, unearthly strain, That seems from other worlds to plain; Thus falling, falling from afar, As if some melancholy star Had mingled with her light her sighs, And dropped them from the skies.

No - never came from aught below This melody of wo, That makes my heart to overflow As from a thousand gushing springs Unknown before; that with it brings This nameless light - if light it be - That veils the world I see.

For all I see around me wears The hue of other spheres; And something blent of smiles and tears Comes from the very air I breathe. O, nothing, sure, the stars beneath, Can mould a sadness like to this - So like angelic bliss.

So, at that dreamy hour of day When the last lingering ray Stops on the highest loud to play - So thought the gentle Rosalie As on her maiden revery First fell the strain of him who stole In music to her soul.