Like those daring curls of Promethean fire,
That boldly raze,
with’n the trees,
The brilliant,
blazing-bright, beckoning pyre:
A living tower felled by desire.
On hiemal nights
long wont of boon,
Thy chestnut locks, thy timeless face,
Thy Dryad airs have
stilled my swoon
As the memory that
was Caledonia
And the charm that
was Rothiemoon.
Lo! In yon fetching
valley-vale,
How picturesque I see thee rest,
The lark singing sweetly o’er thy breast!
Oh, lassie, within my heart do dwell
And I, be
blest!
[In the fashion of Poe's 'To Helen']
