Beneath blue skies of her own country, she
Fell languishing and withering,
Faded at last; and her young shade, maybe,
Already touched me with its wing.
Between us is a line impassable.
In vain I tried to wake my sense.
I heard indifferent lips of her death tell;
I listened with indifference.
So this is she I loved with soul afire.
With spirit in so dolorous stress,
With such a sweet and languishing desire.
Such suffering, such foolishness.
Where are love’s torments? In my heart, alack,
For that poor shadow confident,
For sweet remembered days that come not back,
I find no tear and no lament.