TO 



Thou art amid the festive halls, 



Where Beauty wakes her spells for thee, 

 Where Music on thy spirit falls 



Like moonlight on the sea ; 

 But now while fairer brows are smiling, 

 And brighter lips thy heart beguiling, 



Think'st thou of me ? 



Young forms and faces pass thee by, 

 Like bright creations of a dream, 



And lovelit eyes, when thou art nigh, 

 With softer splendors beam ; 



Life's gayest witcheries are round thee, 



But now, while mirth and joy surround thee 

 Think'st thou of me ? 



