Here one by one come back the thousand things Which made divinely sweet our intercourse; Love summons them here straightway to divorce The heart from melancholy wanderings.
“Here laid she her white hand upon my arm; To this place came she with slow-gliding grace; Here smiled she up serenely in my face; And these sweet notes she sang me for a charm.”
I treasure up her words, and say them o’er With close-shut eyes; with her again I float Upon the Loire; I see the gems she wore,
The ruby shining at her queenly throat; I climb with her again the Pyrenees, And hear her laughter ringing through the trees.