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EEP in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp
Burns the slow flame, eternal, but unseen; Which not the darkness of despair can damp,
Though vain its ray as it had never been.
Remember me -Oh ! pass not thou my grave
Without one thought whose relics there recline:
The only pang my bosom dare not brave
Must be to find forgetfulness in thine.
My fondest, faintest, latest accents hear
Grief for the dead not virtue can reprove ; Then give me all I ever ask'd—a tear,
The first-last-sole reward of so much love !
E Cupids, droop each little head,
Whom dearer than her eyes she loved :
But lightly o'er her bosom moved :
And softly fluttering here and there,
Tuned to her ear his grateful strain.
Now having pass'd the gloomy bourne
Who sighs, alas ! but sighs in vain.
Oh! curst be thou, devouring grave!
For thou hast ta’en the bird away: From thee my Lesbia's eyes o'erflow, Her swollen cheeks with weeping glow Thou art the cause of all her woe,
Receptacle of life's decay.
TY, smile not at my sullen brow;
Alas ! I cannot smile again :
Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain.
And dost thou ask what secret woe
I bear, corroding joy and youth ? And wilt thou vainly seek to know
A pang, ev'n thou must fail to soothe ?
It is not love, it is not hate,
Nor low Ambition's honours lost,