UNA

Roving, 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 light

The 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 name

To foreign parts is blown by fame,

Seek him in his native town,

He is hidden and unknown.