Is it finished?

Well—Is it finished, Is the long day-dream done? The battle lost, and won? Has love at length diminished And night begun?

Do you pass to another? Yet still I hold Devotion all untold; Although you mate a brother And leave me cold.

My heart beats but for thee And every thought is thine, As flowers to the sun incline; For once thou lovedst me And all was mine.

Though destiny may banish, My heart is still the same; And thine is all my fame; Although thy love may vanish, True burns my flame.

And, thou mayst know That shouldst thou call to me, Where-ever I may be, Like arrow from its bow Straight I will fly to thee.

Oh, Lincoln, City of my dreams

As far away as childhood seems Thou standest on thy Roman hill, And memory holds thee frozen, still, Engraved on steel where moonlight streams.

For leagues along the landscape mild Thy towers twin the scene command, Embattlements of fairyland; Romance incarnate to a child.

Though other cities cast a spell, Ever thou holdst my heart in chains; And still I hear across the plains At midnight's stroke that ancient bell

Whose giant throbbing scarcely seems A mortal sound at Heaven's gate: It echoes round the exile's fate— Oh, Lincoln, City of my dreams