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