O'er desert plains, and rushy meres, br And wither'd heaths I rove; br Where tree, nor spire, nor cot, appears, br I pass to meet my love. br br But, though my path were damask'd o'er br With beauties e'er so fine, br My busy thoughts would fly before, br To fix alone-on thine. br br No fir-crown'd hills could give delight, br No palace please mine eye; br No pyramid's aerial height, br Where mould'ring monarchs lie. br br Unmoved, should Eastern kings advance, br Could I the pageant see: br Splendour might catch one scornful glance, br Nor steal one thought from thee.