Have I then found thee but to lose thee, friend? But touched thee ere thou vanished from my gaze? And when my soul is struggling from the maze Of many conflicts, must our converse end?
Across the empty space that now shall spread Between us, shall I never go to thee? Or thou, beloved, never come to me, Save but to whisper prayers above the dead?
Ah, cruel thought! Shall not Hope’s convoy bear To thee the reinforcements of my love? Shall I not on thy white hand drop a tear
Of crowned joy, one day, where thou dost move In thy place regally; even as now I place my farewell token on thy brow?