Ah, dim, lost Glamour-land,
On whose confines I stand,
Longing for home that shall be home no more!
There stood my palace grand,
Where now, on every hand,
The fiery swords of seraphs guard the door.

There once I roamed to cull
Dear hopes more beautiful
Than siren thoughts that musing monks resist:
Nothing too far, or fair,
But its mirage was there
Pictured upon the valley's rosy mist.

There each sweet day I heard
Songs of a brooding bird
Telling of purest pleasure yet to be:
There, by the singing streams,
Faint forms of darling dreams
Loitered and lingered, hand in hand with me.

Ah, dim, dear Fancy-land!
Thy welkin rainbow-spanned;
The softened light of halcyon hours o'erpast
Fading away, away,
All the expanse is gray
As fades the moon on nights too fair to last.