Canst thou not still awaken
Beneath the funeral cypress? Earth implores
Thy presence for her son—why art thou dead?
I do but rave—for it is better thus:
Were once thy starry heart revealed to mine,
In the twin-life which would encircle us,
My soul would melt, my voice be lost in thine!
Better to mask the agony of thought
Which through weak human lips would make its way,
’Neath lone endurance, such as men must learn: