May, though alone in soul, in seeming blend;
Yet still, the guardian-angel of his mind
Shall thy loved image dwell, in Memory’s temple shrined.
XVIII.
Yet must the days be long ere time shall steal
Aught from his grief whose spirit dwells with thee:
Once deeply bruised, the heart at length may heal,
But all it was—oh! never more shall be.
The flower, the leaf, o’erwhelm’d by winter snow,
Shall spring again, when beams and showers return,