Gửi D To D

To D

1
In thee, I fondly hop’d to clasp
A friend, whom death alone could sever;
Till envy, with malignant grasp,
Detach’d thee from my breast for ever.

2
True, she has forc’d thee from my breast,
Yet, in my heart thou keep’st thy seat;
There, there, thine image still must rest,
Until that heart shall cease to beat.

3
And, when the grave restores her dead,
When life again to dust is given,
On thy dear breast I’ll lay my head—
Without thee! where would be my Heaven?