From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn.
Dr. Holmes, “Nautilus.”
’Tis said with Sorrow Time can cope;
But this I feel can n’er be true;
For by the death-blow of my Hope
My Memory immortal grew.
Byron, “Written Beneath a Picture.”
They said that Love would die when Hope was gone,
And Love mourned long, and sorrowed after Hope;