Ah! tale that tells the life of all
To lovelier truth by fancy wrought,
And songs that e'en to us recall
The bliss a poet's vision caught!
All these are ours, yes, all—but he.
And who that lives can find a strain
Of worth like his the soul to free
From bonds of sublunary pain?
A strain like his we vainly seek
To sound above the singer's grave,