To Egeria

Leagues of blue ocean are between us spread; And I cannot behold thee, save in dreams! I cannot hear the music round thee shed, I do not see the light that from thee gleams. Fairest and best! 'mid summer joys, ah, say, Dost thou e'er think of one, who thinks of thee--- Th' Atlantic-wanderer---who, day by day, Looks for thy image in the deep, deep sea? Long months, and years perchance, may pass away, Ere he shall gaze upon thy face again; He cannot know what rocks and quicksands lay Before him, on the Future's shipless main; But, thanked be Memory! there are treasures still, Which the triumphant mind holds subject to its will.