In those sad words I took farewell:
      Like echoes in sepulchral halls,
      As drop by drop the water falls
In vaults and catacombs, they fell;

And, falling, idly broke the peace
      Of hearts that beat from day to day,
      Half-conscious of their dying clay,
And those cold crypts where they shall cease.

The high Muse answer'd: “Wherefore grieve
      Thy brethren with a fruitless tear?
      Abide a little longer here,
And thou shalt take a nobler leave."


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Last modified 11 February 2010