OMETIMES, when after spirited debate
⁠Of letters or affairs, in thought I go
⁠Smiling unto myself, and all aglow
With some immediate purpose, and elate
As if my little, trivial scheme were great,
⁠And what I would so were already so:
⁠Suddenly I think of her that died, and know,
Whatever friendly or unfriendly fate
⁠Befall me in my hope or in my pride,
It is all nothing but a mockery,
And nothing can be what it used to be,
⁠When I could bid my happy life abide,
And build on earth for perpetuity,
⁠Then, in the deathless days before she died.