Chapter CXXVII

Oh! lay aside thy pen, since thou must sing
Forever in a mournful minor key,
And let the world thy disappointment see,
And hear the death-knell of thy spirit ring.
Why write of love, since love thou canst not bring
Within thy craving heart, that still must be
Unsatisfied? Why on thy bended knee
Beg life from some cold, adamantine thing?
Yet at this final moment, more than e’er,
Dost thou seem near to me, dear heart, and more
Than when first found, dost thou seem sweet and fair,
And of my love possess a greater store!
Then though my voice be still, and dead the air,
In silence must I thy dear self adore.