'Absence makes the heart grow fonder,'
One who knew has wisely said,
Since it gives us time to ponder
Over love, though living, dead!

As we will the sweet face haunts us,
And the voice we love is heard,
Though the accent pains and taunts us
With a deathless hope deferred.

Could we die when love no longer
Lives but in one constant breast,
Would that be, forsooth, to wrong her
Who had cursed what she had blessed?