While I unblessed, adored in mute despair:--
Even now I gave it her at parting time.

"O let me, Dearest, fall and once impart
My grieving love to ease this stricken heart;
But once, O Love, to fall and rest
This wearied head of mine,
But once to weep in thine
Unutterably tender breast;
And on my drooping lids feel thy young breath;
To feel it playing sweeter were than death.

"Than death were sweet to one bent down and old,
And worn with persecutions manifold;
Whose stoutness long endured alone
The charge of bitter foes,
Till, furious, he rose,
When smitten, all were overthrown.
Who then of those, his dearest, none could find,
They having fled as leaves before the wind.

"As he would pass, when to his failing sight
Their forms stand in a vision heavenly bright;
And piercing through his drowsed ears
Enters their tuneful cry
Of summons, audibly,
Thither where flow no mourners' tears:
So, dearest Love, my spirit, sore oppressed,
Would weeping in thy bosom sink to rest."