O’er my dark spirit cast;
No thought may dream, no words may tell,
What there unseen hath pass’d:
This wither’d cheek, this faded eye,
Are seals of thee—behold! and fly!
Hath not my cup for thee been pour’d
Beneath the palm-tree’s shade?
Hath not soft sleep thy frame restored
Within my dwelling laid?
What though unknown—yet who shall rest