Note 13 — Early Poems
Reading edition
1833. One dry cicala’s summer song At night filled all the gallery. Ever the low wave seemed to roll Up to the coast: far on, alone In the East, large Hesper overshone The mourning gulf, and on her soul Poured divine solace, or the rise Of moonlight from the margin gleamed, Volcano-like, afar, and streamed On her white arm, and heavenward eyes. Not all alone she made her moan, Yet ever sang she, night and morn, “Madonna! lo! I am all alone, Love-forgotten and love-forlorn”.