And smote his brow, at some idea wild
That came across; then, weeping like a child,
He faltered out the name of Agathè,
And look’d unto the heaven inquiringly,
And the pure stars.
“Oh, shame! that ye are met
To mock me, like old memories, that yet
Break in upon the golden dream I knew
While she—she lived; and I have said adieu
To that fair one, and to her sister, Peace,