Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she can not destroy; Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long be my heart with such memories filled! Like the vase , in which roses have once been distilled You may break, you may shatter the vase , you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. |