When Moonlike Ore the Hazure Seas

When moonlike ore the hazure seas
      In soft effulgence swells,
  When silver jews and balmy breaze
      Bend down the Lily’s bells;

When calm and deap, the rosy sleap
      Has lapt your soal in dreems,
  R Hangeline! R lady mine!
      Dost thou remember Jeames?

I mark thee in the Marble all,
      Where England’s loveliest shine—
  I say the fairest of them hall
      Is Lady Hangeline.

My soul, in desolate eclipse,
      With recollection teems—
  And then I hask, with weeping lips,
      Dost thou remember Jeames?

Away! I may not tell thee hall
      This soughring heart endures—
  There is a lonely sperrit-call
      That Sorrow never cures;

There is a little, little Star,
      That still above me beams;
  It is the Star of Hope—but ar!
      Dost thou remember Jeames?

W.M. Thackeray.