That wind, I used to hear it swelling
With joy divinely deep;
You might have seen my hot tears welling,
But rapture made me weep.

I used to love on winter nights
To lie and dream alone
Of all the rare1 and real delights
My early years had known;*

And oh, above the rest of those*
That coming time should bear,
Like heaven's own glorious stars they rose

Still beaming bright and fair.1 Or " hopes. "