In Memoriam

I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage
The linnet born within the cage
That never knew the summer woods:

I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time
Unfetter'd by the sense of crime
To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all