The parted wave no furrow from the keel;
So dies in human hearts the thought of death.
Even with the tender tear which nature sheds
O’er those we love, we drop it in their grave.
Can I forget Philander? That were strange!
O my full heart!——But should I give it vent,
The longest night, though longer far, would fail,
And the lark listen to my midnight song.
The sprightly lark’s shrill matin wakes the morn;
Grief’s sharpest thorn hard pressing on my breast, 440