While thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs, <br />And my step falters on the faithless floor, <br />Shades of departed joys around me rise, <br />With many a face that smiles on me no more; <br />With many a voice that thrills of transport gave, <br />Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave! <br /> <br />--Say, when, to kindle soft delight, <br />That hand has chanced with mine to meet, <br />How could its thrilling touch excite <br />A sigh so short, and yet so sweet? <br /> <br />O say--but no, it must not be. <br />Adieu! A long, a long adieu! <br />--Yest still, methinks, you frown on me; <br />Or never could I fly from you.<br /><br />Samuel Rogers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/written-at-midnight/
