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Count o'er the joys thine hours have seen,
Count o'er thy days from anguish free,
'Tis something better not to be.
“ Heu quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse!”
And thou art dead, as young and fair
As aught of mortal birth;
Too soon return'd to Earth!
In carelessness or mirth,
I will not ask where thou liest low,
Nor gaze upon the spot;
So I behold them not:
Like common earth can rot;
Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
And can’st not alter now.
Nor falsehood disavow:
The better days of life were ours;
The worst can be but mine :
Shall never more be thine.
Nor need I to repine
Must fall the earliest prey,
The leaves must drop away:
Than see it pluck'd to-day;
I know not if I could have borne
To see thy beauties fade; The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade : Thy day without a cloud hath past, And thou wert lovely to the last ;
Extinguish’d, not decay’d; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high.
As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
One vigil o'er thy bed,
Uphold thy drooping head;
..8. Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free, The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!
Returns again to me,
If sometimes in the haunts of men,
Thine image from my breast may fade, The lonely hour presents again
The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour
Thus much of thee can still restore, And sorrow unobserv'd may pour
The plaint she dare not speak before.