Beside the ceaseless whisper of the foam
Of one faint fountain. Sweeter mockery
Had never held him: and he heard her sing:—
"Ask me not now to sing to thee
Songs I have loved to sing before.
I love thee not; it can not be:
The dream is done; the song is o'er.
"Come, hold my hands: look deep into
The heartbreak of my eyes that bore
Glad welcome erst and now adieu;