| XL. The margin of a stream, the willow's shade | Title page | XLII. True love has vanished from every heart |
THE days of Spring are here! the eglantine,
The rose, the tulip from the dust have risen—
And thou, why liest thou beneath the dust?
Like the full clouds of Spring, these eyes of mine
Shall scatter tears upon the grave thy prison,
Till thou too from the earth thine head shalt thrust.
| XL. The margin of a stream, the willow's shade | Title page | XLII. True love has vanished from every heart |