Look not below, for I am not there,
My home is in the ancient air.
Come to my second, behold how fair
I am, how bright and debonair:
A pleasant vision and a beauty,
A thing of life and joy and duty;
My youth is changed. I live alone,
My views are crossed—my hopes are gone,
My whole is sorrow, grief, and woe,
My singing now is all heigh-ho.