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 | Plays and poems |  |
439
[I heard a voice that through the midnight cried]
I heard a voice that through the midnight cried,“Thy peace is gone, thy sweet content is fled!
Never again,” the phantom prophet said,
“Shalt thou taste joy; for love to thee has died,
And naught of love remaineth, now, beside
His ashes and thy sorrow. Where is sped
The shaft you shot? Has not your bosom bled,
By your own hand transpierced?” O! thou hast lied—
O! viewless phantom, thou hast lied to me!
Love is immortal as this crown of bay,
Which from my brow upon his tomb I lay—
Love is immortal in my memory!
And I will watch his relics, weep and pray,
And from my heart sing his sad elegy.
| Plays and poems | |