Wandering companionless,
Among the stars that have a different birth,—
And ever changing, like a joyless eye 5
That finds no object worth its constancy?
Percy Bysshe Shelley.
CCXXXVIII
SONG.
If I had thought thou could’st have died,
I might not weep for thee;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou could’st mortal be.