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Thy day without a cloud hath past,
And thou wert lovely to the last;

Extinguished, not decayed;
As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

7. As once I wept, if I could weep

My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep

One vigil o'er thy bed;
To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,

Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.

Yet how much less it were to gain,

Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain,

Than thus remember thee!
The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity,

Returns again to me,
And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.



If sometimes in the haunts of men

Thine image from my breast may fale, The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade : And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak before.

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile,

I waste one thought I owe to thee, And, self-condemned, appear to smile,

Unfaithful to thy Memory! Nor deem that memory less dear,

That then I seem not to repine, I would not fools should overhear

One sigh that should be wholly thine.

If not the Goblet pass unquaffed,

It is not drained to banish care, The cup must hold a deadlier draught,

That brings a Lethe for despair.

And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free, I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl

That drowned a single thought of thee.

For wert thou vanished from my mind,

Where could my vacant bosom turn? And who would then remain behind

To honour thine abandoned Urn? No, No—it is my sorrow's pride

That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside,

'Tis meet that I remember still.

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