I should not once have thought my life was sad,
⁠My pathway lonely,
I should have toiled on singing, had I had
⁠That memory only.

Now sometimes when the evening turns to night
⁠Before the stars arise,
The memory flits a ghost, and charnel light
⁠Glows out of empty eyes.

There is a place, a place I needs must haunt,
⁠While all the world’s asleep:
There lies a murdered memory, stark and gaunt,
⁠There my heart stays to weep.