As opiates to the sick on wakeful nights, 
As light to flowers, as flowers in poor men's rooms, 
As to the fisher when the tempest glooms 
The cheerful twinkling of his village lights; 
As emerald isles to flagging swallow flights, 
As roses garlanding with tendrilled blooms 
The unweeded hillocks of forgotten tombs, 
As singing birds on cypress-shadowed heights, 

Thou art to me--a comfort past compare-- 
For thy joy-kindling presence, sweet as May, 
Sets all my nerves to music, makes away 
With sorrow and the numbing frost of care, 
Until the influence of thine eyes' bright sway 
Has made life's glass go up from foul to fair.