And richer flowers amid fair tresses wave,
Than the sad Love-lies-bleeding of the grave.
Oh! little know’st thou of th’ o’ermastering spell
Wherewith love binds the spirit, strong in pain,
To the spot hallow’d by a wild farewell,
A parting agony,—intense, yet vain,
A look—and darkness when its gleam hath flown,
A voice—and silence when its words are gone!
She hears thee not: her full, deep, fervent heart
Is set in her dark eyes;—and they are bound