To speak, anon, from heart’s great deeps.
To speak of all we held of worth,
All that had led us to the spot,
All the fair gifts of happy fate,
And the untoward accidents of life;
Of distant home, of fatherland,
Of the full days of beauty’s quest.
Hand clasped in hand we told our joy:
Need I recall it from the mist?
In fine of thy dear love thou told’st