And this was what he left! Yet many leave
Far more—the glistening eye, that first from theirs
Call’d out the soul’s bright smile; the gentle hand,
Which through the sunshine led forth infant steps
To where the violets lay; the tender voice
That earliest taught them what deep melody
Lives in affection’s tones. He left not these.
Happy the weeper, that but weeps to part
With all a mother’s love! A bitterer grief
Was his—to part unloved!—of her unloved