The silvery dimness of a happy dream
I’ve known of late. Methought where Byron moans,
Like some wild gulf in melancholy zones,
I passed tear-blinded! Once a lurid gleam
Of stormy sunset loitered on the sea
While, travelling troubled, like a straitened stream,
The voice of Shelley died away from me!
Still sore at heart I reached a lake-lit lea;
And then, the green-mossed glades with many a grove
Where lies the calm which Wordsworth used to love;
And, lastly, Locksley Hall! from whence did rise
A haunting Song that blew, and breathed, and blew
With rare delights: ’twas there I woke and knew
The sumptuous comfort left in drowsy eyes.
Henry Kendall, Leaves from Australian Forests, Melbourne: George Robertson, 1869, page 114