To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
It doesn't much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.
Vast and deep the mountain shadows grew.
To know her was to love her.
The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!
Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.