If I have graced no single song of mine
With thy sweet name, they all are full of thee;
Thou art my Muse, my "May", my "Madeline":
But "Julia"! -- ah! that gentle name to me
Is something far too sacred for the throng
Of worldly listeners 'round me. Yet ev'n now
I weave a chaplet for thy sinless brow; --
Wilt thou not wear it? 'T is a fashionable song, --
I will not say of what, -- but on it I
Have wreaked heart, mind, my love, my hopes of fame,
Yet after all it hath no nobler aim
Than thy dear praise. Ere many moons pa** by,
When the lost gem is set, the crown complete,
I'll lay a poet's tribute at thy feet.