My cherished hopes, like shadows and like leaves,
Name, fame, and fortune—each shall pass away;
And all that castle-building fancy weaves,
Shall sleep, unthinking, as the drowsy clay.
But from thy root another tree shall bloom—
With living leaves its tossing boughs shall rise;
And the winged spirit—bursting from the tomb,—
Oh, shall it spring to light beyond these skies?