Within us laid!—then doth the spirit-flame
With sword-like lightning rend its mortal frame;
The wings of that which pants to follow fast
Shake their clay-bars, as with a prison’d blast—
The sea is in our souls!
He died—he died
On whom my lone devotedness was cast!
I might not keep one vigil by his side,
I, whose wrung heart watch’d with him to the last!
I might not once his fainting head sustain,