Yet must I perish if the gift depart—
Leave me not, Love! to mine own beating heart!
“The music from my lyre
With thy swift step would flee;
The world’s cold breath would quench the starry fire
In my deep soul—a temple fill’d with thee!
Seal’d would the fountains lie,
The waves of harmony,
Which thou alone canst free!
“Like a shrine midst rocks forsaken,