All vainly searching for the parted rays—
This is what waits us! Dead!—with that chill word
To link our bosom-names! For this we pour
Our souls upon the dust—nor tremble to adore!
LVII.
But the true parting came! I look’d my last
On the sad beauty of that slumbering face:
How could I think the lovely spirit pass’d
Which there had left so tenderly its trace?
Yet a dim awfulness was on the brow—