Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again
What rights are those that dare not resist for them?
On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.
Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.
So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.
Never, oh! never, nothing will die; The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.