Catch thy thoughts, thy looks, thy sighs.
To divine its secret pondering,
Close to clasp thy soul ’t will brave,
And if chance shall find thee wandering
Heedless near my silent grave,
E’en my ashes then shall tremble,
Thy approach relume their fire,
And that stone in dust shall crumble,
Covering what can ne’er expire!
—From W. D. Lewis’s The Bakchesarian Fountain.