Lohengrin

Strain, strain thine eyes, this parting is for aye!
Grief have her will of thee! Thy faith confessed
To his unequal, he must go, the quest
Fulfilled that brought him hither on thy day
Of imminent, direst peril. Now away
To other shores bids him the Grail's behest.
Thou knewest him too late to spare thy breast
This keen remorse, thy soul this dark dismay.
Yet canst thou face not all disconsolate
The coming years. The horn remains, the sword,
The ring he left thee, and the child whom late
Thou mournedst; while beyond the power of fate
To dim the memory of that love outpoured
Upon thee by thy stainless knight and lord.