To a Lady, on Her Singing a Sweet Old Air

Oh ! that a tone were lasting as a thought,
A feeling joy, eternal as a truth !
Then were my spirit charm'd to endless youth,
All time enriched with what a moment brought.
That one sweet note, so sweet itself, and fraught
With all the warbled sweetness of the stream
Of rippling sound, continuous as a dream —
A dream of song, that waking turns to nought.
I cannot find it, I cannot resume
The thrilling calm, the gladness so intense.
So simple, perfect, neither soul nor sense
For hope had need, for hoarding thought had room :
Yet shall the moral heart for aye retain
The once-seen songstress, and the once-heard strain.