Where art thou, O where, my love! 
Vainly I ask, in vain I weep; 
In darkness of the grave I move 
Nor wake, nor do I sleep. 
I pray thee whisper now to me! 
And I will hear by day or night 
Thee wandering by the awful sea 
Or where dark woods affright; 
Whisper, only, to the leaves, 
I will catch the lightest strain; 
Or if thou stir the rustling sheaves, 
Thou wilt ease my pain; 
Tell thou but the shaft yon sun 
Eastward sends when day is low, 
Or the dew whose life is done 
With the morning's glow; 
I will hear thee, darling, where 
Thou art hid, and follow thee! 
Dead are all things earthly fair, 
Thou alone art life to me.