  Here where Love lies perishÈd, Look not in upon the dead; Lest the shadowy curtains, shaken In my Heart's dark chamber, waken Ghosts, beneath whose garb of sorrow Whilom gladness bows his head: When you come at morn to-morrow, Look not in upon the dead, Here where Love lies perishÈd. Here where Love lies cold interred, Let no syllable be heard; Lest the hollow echoes, housing In my Soul's deep tomb, arousing Wake a voice of woe, once laughter Claimed and clothed in joy's own word: When you come at dusk or after, Let no syllable be heard, Here where Love lies cold interred. |
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