That strain again? It seems to tell <br />Of something like a joy departed; <br />I love its mourning accents well, <br />Like voice of one, ah! broken-hearted. <br /> <br />That note that pensive dies away, <br />And can each answering thrill awaken, <br />It sadly, wildly, seems to say, <br />Thy meek heart mourns its truth forsaken. <br /> <br />Or there was one who never more <br />Shall meet thee with the looks of gladness, <br />When all of happier life was o'er, <br />When first began thy night of sadness. <br /> <br />Sweet mourner, cease that melting strain, <br />Too well it suits the grave's cold slumbers; <br />Too well the heart that loved in vain <br />Breathes, lives, and weeps in those wild numbers.<br /><br />Charles Wolfe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-last-rose-of-summer-2/
