If I could e'er have thought that after-times
Would hold the music of my sighs so dear
I might perhaps have framed more idle rhymes
And striven to make them sweeter to the ear:
But she is gone forever who should hear
The mistress of my love, and lyre, and heart
Who made my crude harsh numbers smooth and clear,
And I in losing her have lost the art.
She was my inspiration, and I strove
To pour my soul and sorrows out to her,
For then it was not fame I sought, but love,
And now alas! it is too late to stir
Ambition's fire, when Laura from above
Beckons, my flight to hasten, not defer.