Happiness, when from earth she fled,
I passed on her heaven-ward flight,—
“Take this wreath,” the spirit said,
“And bathe it in floods of light;
To the sons of sorrow this token give,
And bid them follow my steps and live!”
I took the wreath from her radiant hand,
Each flower was a silver star;
I turned this dark earth to a fairy land,
When I hither drove my car;
But I wove the wreath round my tresses bright,
And man only saw its reflected light.
Many a lovely dream I've given,
And many a song divine,
But never — oh never!— that wreath from heaven
Shall mortal temples twine.
Hope and love in the chaplet glow:
‘ Tis all too bright for a world of woe!