Upon our dreams their dying eyes
In still and mournful fondness rise.
But they are where these longings vain
Trouble no more the heart and brain;
The sadness of this aching love
Dims not our Father’s house above.
Ye are at rest, and I in tears,[375]
Ye dwellers of immortal spheres!
Under the poplar boughs I stand,
And mourn the broken household band.