But calls me with a strange sweet whisper, blent
Of many mysteries.
Hark! the warning tone
Deepens—its word is Death! Alone, alone,
And sad in youth, but chasten’d, I depart,
Bowing to heaven. Yet, yet my woman’s heart
Shall wake a spirit and a power to bless,
Even in this hour’s o’ershadowing fearfulness,
Thee, its first love! O tender still, and true!
Be it forgotten if mine anguish threw