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“ Ay, but to die, and go,” alas!

Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was

Ere born to life and living woe!

Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,

Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast heen,

'Tis something better not to be.



“Heu quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"

And thou art dead, as young and fair

As aught of mortal birth;
And form so soft, and charms so rare,

Too soon returned to Earth!
Though Earth received them in her bed,
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread

In carelessness or mirth,
There is an eye which could not brook

A moment on that grave to look.

I will not ask where thou liest low,

Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow.,

So I behold them not:

It is enough for me to prove
That what I loved and long must love

Like common earth can rot;

To me there needs no stone to tell, 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.

Yet did I love thee to the last

As fervently as thou,.. Who didst not change through all the past,

And canst not alter now.

The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal,

Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.

The better days of life were ours;

The worst can be but mine :
The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,

Shall never more be thine.
The silence of that dreamless sleep
I envy now too much to weep; .

Nor need I to repine
That all those charms have passed away;
I might have watched through long decay.

The flower in ripened bloom unmatched

Must fall the earliest prey; Though by no hand untimely snatched,

The leaves must drop away:

And yet it were a greater grief
To watch it withering, leaf by leaf,

Than see it plucked to-day;
Since earthly eye but ill can bear
To trace the change to foul from fair.


I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;
The night that followed such a morn

Had worn a deeper shade:

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