I ask’d thee,—would it spoil thine hour of mirth,
To see some sudden shape before thee stand!
And a cold shudder told me, and thine hand
Press’d dearer to mine own. But then said I,
Oh! if thy friend were dead, and could command
Some midnight hour to visit thee; reply,
Say, would it grieve thee, Love, if love could never die!
II.
I have been roaming in that Spirit-world,
And still my deathless love return’d to thee: