Elegy on the Poet's Wife

The gulls that twitter on the rush-grown shore
When fall the shades of night,
That o'er the waves in loving pairs do soar
When shines the morning light--
'Tis said e'en these poor birds delight
To nestle each beneath his darling's wing
That, gently fluttering,
Through the dark hours wards off the hoar-frost's might.

Like to the stream that finds
The downward path it never may retrace,
Like to the shapeless winds,
Poor mortals pass away without a trace:--
So she I love has left her place,
And, in a corner of my widowed couch,
Wrapped in the robe she wove me,
I must crouch,
Far from her fond embrace.