Ah, weary months! ah, weary years!
That I must dwell alone.
My only child, I hold thee still,
Clasped in my fond embrace!
My love, my sweet! how fixed, how chill,
This smile upon thy face!
The grave is cold, my clasp is warm,
Yet give thee up I must;
And birds will sing when thy loved form
Lies mouldering in the dust.