For idle words breathed of the dead, should pass as idly by.
Thou’lt miss my step at even, when thou drawest near thy home,
When gleam the ever-sleepless stars, from yon eternal dome;
And thou wilt sit and gaze at them, nor shall thou gaze unmoved,
For, oh! thou’lt think, that I too well their startling beauty loved!
Thou’lt miss me, and will seek to claim the tempest of thy soul,
For passions all untamed as those, shall bend to thy control;
And grief, that erst sat on thy brow, thou’lt spurn from out thy heart,
And with each old remembrancer most willingly will part.
When my dim-remembered features shall pass from memory,