Beloved! Amid The Earnest Woes That Crowd Around My Earthly Path, (Drear Path, Alas! Where Grows Not Even One Lonely Rose), My Soul At Least A Solace Hath In Dreams Of Thee, And Therein Knows An Eden Of Bland Repose. And Thus Thy Memory Is To Me Like Some Enchanted Far-Off Isle In Some Tumultuous Sea, Some Ocean Throbbing Far And Free With Storm,But Where Meanwhile Serenest Skies Continually Just O'Er That One Bright Inland Smile.