LONELY I linger'd when you went,

Recalling how the days had fled

Each with its mingled treasure pent

Of shine and shade rememberèd. . . .

Oh, how I crush'd the grapes divine,

Blending a flood of wakeful wine.

Next look'd I on the well-lov'd scene,

Eager its ready wealth to glean:

And forg'd therefrom a cup of gold--

Red hills, blue loch, and islands green--

(Rare alchemy!). So could it hold

That vintage of our joy, and I

Drink deep the draught of memory.

Love be not sad, but listen

To the laughter of the wave,

Sweeping ever madly after

His desire above yon cave:

See the leaping shingle glisten

With the fire his kisses gave. . .

Oh, mingle, love, your laughter

With the laughter of the wave!