I. br I, too, have come to feel and see br How little in the world can be br Ours, as we pine and pass — br How all we long for, know of, love, br As in a dream from us remove, br Till each becomes the shadow of br A light that was. br II. br We must all somehow be made br One with time, that fleeting shade; br Until we within the dust br Wither as sweet violets must br In their own scent, as they lie br Like a virgin memory br Trembling with its sweetest breath br In the mystery of death.