Now released, it may be,—if only love might know—
Filled and fired with sight, it beholds us blind and low
⁠With a pity keener yet, if that may be,
⁠Even than ever was this that we
⁠Felt, when love of thee wrought us woe.

None may tell the depths and the heights of life and death.
What we may we give thee: a word that sorrow saith,
⁠And that none will heed save sorrow: scarce a song.
⁠All we may, who have loved thee long,
⁠Take: the best we can give is breath.