My torrent-passions madly sweep
On, darkly on, and will not sleep
But in death’s silent sea;
And I—a mouldering wreck—am still
The victim of their stormy will.
Ah, dear one, suns will rise and set,
And moons will wax and wane,
The seasons come and go, but we
Must never meet again;
That thought, whene’er I hear thy name,