One struggle more, and I am free
  From pangs that rend this heart in twain;
One last long sigh to love and thee,
  Then back to busy life again.
It suits me well to mingle now
  With things that never pleas'd before:
Though ev'ry joy is fled below,
  What future grief can touch me more?

 ... 

In vain my lyre would lightly breathe!
  The smile that sorrow fain would wear
But mocks the woe that lurks beneath
  Like roses, roses o'er a sepulchre.
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
  Dispel awhile the sense of ill:
Though pleasure fires the madd'ning soul,
  The heart -- the heart is lonely still!

 ... 

My Thyrza's pledge in better days,
  When love and life alike were new!
How diff'rent now it meets my gaze!
  How ting'd by time with sorrow's hue!
The heart that gave itself for thee
  Is silent - ah, were mine as still!
Though cold as e'en the dead can be,
  It feels, it sickens with the chill.