  Thou weep’st, and on me look’st, believing That thou art for my anguish grieving— Thou know’st not, wife, that ’tis for thee The tear escapes thee, not for me. O tell me if it be not true That o’er thy spirit sometimes grew The blest foreboding, showing thee That we were join’d by fate’s decree? United, bliss was ours below, But sever’d, nought is ours but woe. In the great book ’tis written clearly That we should love each other dearly. Thy place should be upon my breast, Here first awoke self-knowledge blest; From out the realm of plants, with power ’Twas mine to free, to kiss thee, flower!— ’Twas mine to give thee soul, my wife. Now, when reveal’d the riddles stand, When in the hour-glass is the sand Run out, weep not, ’tis order’d so— Alone thou’lt wither, when I go; Thou’lt wither, ere thou yet hast bloom’d, Ere thou hast glow’d, be quench’d and doom’d; Thou’lt die and be the prey of death Ere thou hast learnt to draw thy breath. I know it now. By heaven, ’tis thou Whom I have loved. How bitter now, The moment we are join’d for ever, To find the hour when we must sever. The welcome meanwhile must give way To sad farewell. We part to-day For evermore, for ’tis not given To us to meet again in heaven. Beauty to dust will fall at last, Thou’lt pass away, and crumble fast. The poets’ fate will happier be, Death cannot kill them utterly. Annihilation strikes us ne’er, We live in poesy’s land so fair, In Avalon, where fairies dwell— Dear corpse, for ever fare thee well! |
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