When the heart has lost all that once bade it beat high?
When hopes still prove false, and when joys never last,
'Tis better to wither--'tis better to die.
I cast thee from me--away to the earth,
More happy than others that must not depart,
Doom'd to bear on their grief 'neath the semblance of mirth,
With silence of feeling, and deadness of heart.