Through what beguilement dost thou friendless roam?
And goest thou—ah, whither?
Day quickly fades, Night may refuse her star,
Clouds may arise, and elemental strife,—
Ah, hapless bird! what wanderlust of life
Betrayed thy wings so far?
Full as my soul of tremulous desires,
Thy voice I hear in supplication rise.
"Theresa!" dost thou call? Unto the skies
The plaint, adoring, holily aspires:—
"Theresa!" Is it she keeps watch o'er thee?—
Wise minstrel! Thou dost well to call on her;
No saint was ever lovelier.
Her heart had room for such wide tenderness
As his who "Little Sister" called the birds,
And pity, deeper than all words,
Taught her, like him, to bless.
Silent? Where art thou? Lo, the City wakes!
Toil's round begins, and calm the world forsakes.
Thou, too, art gone!—nor evermore shalt come
Without my window here at dawn to sing.
Adieu, strange guest! Theresa guide thy wing
Safe to the sweet wild woods that are thy home!