Ye songs unknown, unuttered,
That flutter in me unsung,
Would ye had left my bosom
In the days when I was young!

Then had ye flown o'er the sea-waste
And drunk of the outer foam,
Perchance, in the gray of the morning,
Ye had found it, — found it, — home!

Had ye soared in the azure distance,
Had ye cloven the sun, above,
Perchance, in the unknown heaven,
Ye had found it, — unknown love!