And Ellen, when the greybeard years
Have brought us to life's Evening hour
And all the crowded Past appears
A tiny scene of sun & shower. —

Then, if I read the page aright
Where Hope the soothsayer reads our lot,
Thyself shalt own the page was bright
Well that we loved wo had we not.

When Mirth is dumb & Flattery's fled
And thy mute music's dearest tone
When all but Love itself is dead,
And all but deathless Reason gone