Three sleepless nights I passed in sounding on,Through words and things, a dim and perilous way.
Men are we, and must grieve when even the shadeOf that which once was great, is passed away.
And, when the streamWhich overflowed the soul was passed away,A consciousness remained that it had left,Deposited upon the silent shoreOf memory, images and precious thoughtsThat shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
And, when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left, Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory, images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.