IS he alone? The myriad stars shine o'er him,
⁠The flowers bloom for him mid wintry frost;
He needs not sleep to dream,—and dreams restore him
⁠Whatever he has lost.

Is he forsaken? Beauty's self is nigh him,
⁠Closer than bride to the fond lover's arms,—
Veiled, guarding still, to lift and glorify him,
⁠The mystery of her charms.

Unto his soul she speaks in accents moving—
⁠In moving accents meant for him alone,
Revealing, past all visioned heights of loving,
⁠Far-beckoning heights unknown.