The slow attrition of the years shall wear
No tenderest charm away, and she shall live
A lonely star, a gust of music sweet,
A voice upon the Deep, a mystery!
But in the night, I know, the lonely wind
Shall sigh of her, the restless ocean moan
Her name with immemorial murmurings,
And the sad golden summer moon shall mourn
With me, and through the gloom of rustling leaves
The shaken throats of nightingales shall bring