Once more, once more, Inarimé, br I see thy purple hills!--once more br I hear the billows of the bay br Wash the white pebbles on thy shore. br br High o'er the sea-surge and the sands, br Like a great galleon wrecked and cast br Ashore by storms, thy castle stands, br A mouldering landmark of the Past. br br Upon its terrace-walk I see br A phantom gliding to and fro; br It is Colonna,--it is she br Who lived and loved so long ago. br br Pescara's beautiful young wife, br The type of perfect womanhood, br Whose life was love, the life of life, br That time and change and death withstood. br br For death, that breaks the marriage band br In others, only closer pressed br The wedding-ring upon her hand br And closer locked and barred her breast. br br She knew the life-long martyrdom, br The weariness, the endless pain br Of waiting for some one to come br Who nevermore would come again. br br The shadows of the chestnut trees, br The odor of the orange blooms, br The song of birds, and, more than these, br The silence of deserted rooms; br br The respiration of the sea, br The soft caresses of the air, br All things in nature seemed to be br But ministers of her despair; br br Till the o'erburdened heart, so long br Imprisoned in itself, found vent br And voice in one impassioned song br Of inconsolable lament. br br Then as the sun, though hidden from sight, br Transmutes to gold the leaden mist, br Her life was interfused with light, br From realms that, though unseen, exist, br br Inarimé! Inarimé! br Thy castle on the crags above br In dust shall crumble and decay, br But not the memory of her love.