Kneel, and present it to the skies; as all
We guess of heaven: and these were all her own.
And she was mine; and I was—was!—most blest!—
Gay title of the deepest misery! 100
As bodies grow more ponderous, robb’d of life;
Good lost weighs more in grief, than gain’d, in joy.
Like blossom’d trees o’erturn’d by vernal storm,
Lovely in death the beauteous ruin lay;
And if in death still lovely, lovelier there;
Far lovelier! pity swells the tide of love.