Gathered around him, of that sombre kind
Which follows from a place where many days
Have seen us go and come; and even if sore
Has been our sojourn there, we feel the more
That parting is a sorrow,—though we part
With those who loved us not, or go forlorn
From pain that ate its canker in the heart;
But when we leave the paths where Love has borne
His garlands to us, Pleasure poured her wine,
Where life was wholly precious and divine,