Bayard Taylor - From the North lyrics

Once more without you! Sighing, dear, once more, For all the sweet, accustomed ministries Of wife and mother; not as when the seas That parted us my tender message bore From the gray olives of the Cretan shore To those that hide the broken Phidian frieze Of our Athenian home,--but far degrees, Wide plains, great forests, part us now. My door Looks on the rushing Neva, cold and clear: The swelling domes in hovering splendour lie Like golden bubbles, eager to be gone; But the chill crystal of the atmosphere Withholds them, and along the northern sky The amber midnight smiles in dreams of dawn.