And half look out for their return;

And think their forms we see -

And fancy music in our ear

Such as their lips could only pour

And think we feel their presence near

And start to find they are not here

And never shall be more!

90.

Mes tras mes, año tras año,

mi arpa ha derramado una triste melodía.

Una nota más vivaz la alegrará por fin

y el placer afinará sus cuerdas de nuevo.

Pues, aunque las estrellas y la luz de la luna

se apaguen en la mañana aburrida y gris,

ellas solo eran señales de la noche

y esto, alma mía, es el día.

Month after month year after year

My harp has poured a dreary strain -

At length a livelier note shall cheer

And pleasure tune its chords again

What though the stars and fair moonlight

Are quenched in morning dull and grey

They were but tokens of the night