Words from the mirror softly pass
       &nbsp To the curtains with a sigh:
“Why should I trouble again to glass
       &nbsp These smileless things hard by,
Since she I pleasured once, alas,
       &nbsp Is now no longer nigh!”

“I’ve imaged shadows of coursing cloud,
       &nbsp And of the plying limb
On the pensive pine when the air is loud
       &nbsp With its aerial hymn;
But never do they make me proud
       &nbsp To catch them within my rim!

“I flash back phantoms of the night
       &nbsp That sometimes flit by me,
I echo roses red and white -
       &nbsp The loveliest blooms that be -
But now I never hold to sight
       &nbsp So sweet a flower as she.”