I I loved -- alas! our life is love; But when we cease to breathe and move I do suppose love ceases too. I thought, but not as now I do, Keen thoughts and bright of linked lore, Of all that men had thought before, And all that nature shows, and more. II And still I love and still I think, But strangely, for my heart can drink The dregs of such despair, and live, And love; And if I think, my thoughts come fast, I mix the present with the past, And each seems uglier than the last. III Sometimes I see before me flee A silver spirit's form, like thee, O Leonora, and I sit still watching it, Till by the grated casement's ledge It fades, with such a sigh, as sedge Breathes o'er the breezy streamlet's edge. |