• • • • •
Dear friend, forgive a wild lament
Insanely following thy flight. I would not cumber thine ascent Nor drag thee back into the night;
But the great sea-winds sigh with me, The fair-faced stars seem wrinkled, old, And I would that I might lie with thee There in the grave so cold, so cold!
Grave walls are thick, I cannot see thee, And the round skies are far and steep; A-wild to quaff some cup of Lethe, Pain is proud and scorns to weep.
My heart breaks if it cling about thee, And still breaks, if far from thine. O drear, drear death, to live without thee, O sad life—to keep thee mine.