She tuned sweet music in my breast,
Till every sad or joyous guest,
That sway’d it once, with wondering rest,
Grew hush’d as hate when heaven is near.
She came: she went: a beam sublime
That, straying toward a sunless clime,
Trembled along the edge of Time
And then in fright sped back amain.
Ah, wherefore came she if to go!
I had not known the half of woe