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Updated: May 13, 2025
Where hast thou been? for sure some envious power Has hid thee from my gaze: long have I sought thee: E'en from the hour when 'mid the funeral rites Of the dead prince, like some angelic vision, Lit with celestial brightness, on my sight Thou shonest, no other image in my breast Waking or dreaming, lives; nor to thyself Unknown thy potent spells; my glance of fire, My faltering accents, and my hand that lay Trembling in thine, bespoke my ecstasy!
Thou wert with me, but I was not with Thee. Things held me far from Thee, which, unless they were in Thee, were not at all. Thou calledst, and shoutedst, and burstest my deafness. Thou flashedst, shonest, and scatteredst my blindness. Thou breathedst odours, and I drew in breath and panted for Thee. I tasted, and hunger and thirst. Thou touchedst me, and I burned for Thy peace.
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