In these lines, a man aches for the woman he loves, who is absent. The speaker imagines Mary vividly — her bright brown eyes, her voice like a bird singing to its mate from a lonely ivy-covered bower. He doesn't just miss her; he paints her beauty as inseparable from the Italian landscape around him, her brow somehow even lovelier than the “azure” sky. This creates a mood of tender, almost fragile longing. The final comparisons — sunset to the moon, twilight to the evening star — suggest that she is the thing that makes his world beautiful and whole. His confession, “I am not well whilst thou art far,” is simple and raw. And the last line, with the castle echo whispering “Here!”, feels like a gentle, ghostly hope: the very place he’s in seems to call for her presence, as if nature itself wants to draw her back to him.
To Mary -- — Summary
O Mary dear, that you were here With your brown eyes bright and clear. And your sweet voice, like a bird Singing love to its lone mate In the ivy bower disconsolate; Voice the sweetest ever heard! And your brow more... Than the ... sky Of this azure Italy. Mary dear, come to me soon, I am not well whilst thou art far; As sunset to the sphered moon, As twilight to the western star, Thou, beloved, art to me.
O Mary dear, that you were here; The Castle echo whispers 'Here!'