Not for himself. To us most dear
This image of him! “It was thus
He looked; such pallor touched his cheek;
With that same grace he greeted us—
Nay, ’tis the man, could it but speak!”
Sad words that shall be said some day—
Far fall the day! O cruel Time,
Whose breath sweeps mortal things away,
Spare long this image of his prime,
That others standing in the place