[First Draft]

In vain I supplicate the Powers above; There is no Resurrection for the Love That, nursed with tenderest care, yet fades away In the chilled heart by inward self-decay. Like a lorn Arab old and blind Some caravan had left behind That sits beside a ruined Well, And hangs his wistful head aslant, Some sound he fain would catch-- Suspended there, as it befell, O'er my own vacancy, And while I seemed to watch The sickly calm, as were of heart A place where Hope lay dead, The spirit of departed Love Stood close beside my bed. She bent methought to kiss my lips As she was wont to do. Alas! 'twas with a chilling breath That awoke just enough of life in death To make it die anew.