Come;
let us go: your cheeks are pale;
But half my life I leave behind:
Methinks my friend is richly shrined;
But
I shall pass; my work will fail.
Yet
in these ears, till hearing dies,
One set slow bell will seem to toll
The passing of the sweetest soul
That
ever look’d with human eyes.
I
hear it now, and o’er and o’er,
Eternal greetings to the dead;
And ‘Ave, Ave, Ave,’ said,
‘Adieu,
adieu’ for evermore.