1794-1854
629 Lines
WHEN youthful faith hath fled,
Of loving take thy leave;
Be constant to the dead—
The dead cannot deceive.
Sweet modest flowers of Spring,
How fleet your balmy day!
And Man’s brief life can bring
No secondary May:
No earthly burst again
Of gladness out of gloom,
Fond hope and vision vain,
Ungrateful to the tomb.
But ’tis an old belief
That on some solemn shore
Beyond the sphere of grief
Dear friends shall meet once more:
Beyond the sphere of Time
And Sin and Fate’s control,
Serene in endless prime
Of body and of soul.
That creed I fain would keep,
That hope I’ll not forgo—
Eternal be the sleep
Unless to waken so!