Sonnets, Sonnet II

True: she was fair as Fancy's fairest child. True: much her thought excelled her early years, True: nameless grace in every gesture smiled. True: she was good above her gentlest peers. Yet cease my soul: O be no more beguiled! Yet cease to dream her bright form still appears. Yet cease to dream her voice still charms my ears. Yet cease to paint her sweet demeanor mild. For why? The sod is green that clothes her grave! (Oh would to heaven that grave me rather knew!) From sighs or tears no ease can sorrow have:— From sighs or tears can no relief accrue? And is she gone beyond all power to save? Then, Death, thou only can'st give respite due!