II.
My life, like some lone solemn spot A spirit passes o'er, Grew instinct with a glory not In earth or heaven before. Sweet trouble stirr'd the haunted spot, And shook the leaves of every thought Thy presence wander'd o'er!
My life, like some lone solemn spot A spirit passes o'er, Grew instinct with a glory not In earth or heaven before. Sweet trouble stirr'd the haunted spot, And shook the leaves of every thought Thy presence wander'd o'er!