Whereby the passing gust has blown,
Unmark'd, the eye will turn to weep
O'er days that have so swiftly flown,
Remember me—remember me,
My latest thought will be for thee.
The tale which to thee I've confest
Another ne'er shall hear again;
Nor love, that link'd me with the blest,
Be darken'd with an earthly chain.
No, as the scroll above the dead,