Till through each vein reanimation rolls!
'Tis past; and now her filmy glance is fix'd
Upon the heavens, as though her spirit gazed
On that immortal world, to which 'tis bound:
The sun hath sunk.—her soul hath fled without
A pang, and left her lovely in her death,
And beautiful as an embodied dream.
MORTALITY.
All that we love and feel on Nature's face,
Bear dim relations to our common doom.