UNA.
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oving, roving, as it seems,Una lights my clouded dreams;Still for journeys she is dressed;We wander far by east and west. In the homestead, homely thought;At my work I ramble not;If from home chance draw me wide,Half-seen Una sits beside. In my house and garden-plot,Though beloved, I miss her not;But one I seek in foreign places,One face explore in foreign faces. At home a deeper thought may lightThe inward sky with chrysolite,And I greet from far the ray,Aurora of a dearer day. But if upon the seas I sail,Or trundle on the glowing rail,I am but a thought of hers,Loveliest of travellers. So the gentle poet's nameTo foreign parts is blown by fame;Seek him in his native town,He is hidden and unknown.
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