And look in vain.
They see those happier ghosts that waned away—
Whither, who knows?—
Ghosts that come back with music and the may,
And Spring's first rose,
Lover and lass, to sing the old burden through,
Stave and refrain:
Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
And look in vain.
So, after death, if in that starless deep,