Remember Thee - Sách nói Miễn phí

ON THE DEATH OF A LADY,

Sweet spirit! if thy airy sleep
  Nor sees my tears not hears my sighs,
Then will I weep, in anguish weep,
  Till the last heart's drop fills mine eyes.

But if thy sainted soul can feel,
  And mingles in our misery;
Then, then my breaking heart I'll seal—
  Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me.

The beam of morn was on the stream,
  But sullen clouds the day deform;
Like thee was that young, orient beam,
  Like death, alas, that sullen storm!

Thou wert not formed for living here,
  So linked thy soul was with the sky;
Yet, ah, we held thee all so dear,
  We thought thou wert not formed to die.