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?