Burn with too subtle and too swift a fire;
Importunately to my lips they throng,
And with their earthly kindred seek to blend
Ere the veil drop between. When I am gone—
(For I must go)—then the remember’d words
Wherein these wild imaginings flow forth,
Will to thy fond heart be as amulets
Held there, with life and love. And weep not thus,
Mother! dear sister!—kindest, gentlest ones!
Be comforted that now I weep no more