Bearing a flower to the deep away.
That which our love to the earth would chain,
Fearfully striving with heaven in vain—
That which fades from us, while yet we hold,
Clasp’d to our bosoms, its mortal mould,
Was fleeting before her, afar and fast;
One moment—the soul from the face had pass’d!
Are there no words for that common woe?
Ask of the thousands its depth that know!
The boy had breathed, in his dreaming rest,