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And he determined to depart full soon,

Yet one thing did his heart desire to see,—

The face of Stella, which both night and day

Did follow him, where-e’er he turned his way,

Her beck’ning in his dream might mean to be

A change of mind, before another moon.

Yea, might he but behold those eyes once more,

Receive again one look of kindliness,

And feast his famished heart upon her beauty,

And hear her speak, as once, forgetting duty,

And give him one adieu of hope to bless,

Then would he seek his chimes on any shore.

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How man is ever living by illusions!

The more the better, why then shatter them?

Why kill the birds of Paradise with science?

Why meet old Superstition with defiance,

Since in the past her very garments’ hem

Gave from life’s guiltiness sweet absolution?

Why not let lore of Middle Ages reign,

The lore of fairy—and of elfin-land?

A world of strange, imaginary things,

Which gave to human mind its soaring wings,

And bore the simplest to a golden strand,