The little bee returns with evening's gloom

Hung on the shower that fronts the golden West, The rainbow bursts like magic on mine eyes! In hues of ancient promise there imprest; Frail in its date, eternal in its guise.

Oh! that the memories which survive us here Were half so lovely as these wings of thine! Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine Now thou art gone.

How like the leper, with his own sad cry Enforcing his own solitude, it tolls! That lonely bell set in the rushing shoals, To warn us from the place of jeopardy!

Bubble, bubble, flows the stream Like an old tune through a dream.

Old scenes to visit, and old dreams to dream, Shall not to us a task of labour seem.

For milkmaids and queens and gipsy-princesses Dream and kiss blindfold or starve upon guesses.