No More Learning

With thee I knew
All that a poet could desire,
Oblivion of life's tempest dire,
Of friends the           intercourse--
Oh, many a year hath run its course
Since I beheld Eugene and young
Tattiana in a misty dream,
And my romance's open theme
Glittered in a perspective long,
And I discerned through Fancy's prism
Distinctly not its mechanism.