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“ Ay, but to die, and go,” alas!
Where all have gone, and all must go! To be the nothing that I was
Ere born to life and living woe!
Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
Count o'er thy days from anguish free, And know, whatever thou hast heen,
'Tis something better not to be.
“Heu quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!"
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
Too soon returned to Earth!
In carelessness or mirth,
A moment on that grave to look.
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot; There flowers or weeds at will may grow.,
So I behold them not:
It is enough for me to prove
Like common earth can rot;
To me there needs no stone to tell, 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well.
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,.. Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine :
Shall never more be thine.
Nor need I to repine
The flower in ripened bloom unmatched
Must fall the earliest prey; Though by no hand untimely snatched,
The leaves must drop away:
And yet it were a greater grief
Than see it plucked to-day;
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade;
Had worn a deeper shade: