And life all pure is love, and love can reach
From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach,
Than those by mortals read.
Well blest is he who has a dear one dead:
A friend he has whose face will never change,
A dear communion that will not grow strange:
The anchor of a love is death.
The blessed sweetness of a loving breath
Will reach our cheek all fresh through fourscore years:
For her who died long since, ah! waste not tears—