In visions of the dark night I have a dream of Joy departed– but a waking dream of life and light hath left me broken-hearted. Ah! What is not a dream by day To him whose eyes are cast on things around him with a ray turned upon the past? That holy dream– that holy dream, while all the world were chiding, hath left me as a lovely beam, a lonely spirit guiding. What thought that light, thro' storm and night, so trembled afar– what could there be more purely bright in truths day-star?