Doth o’er us pass, when, as th’ expanding eye

To the loved object – so the tear to the lid

Will start, which lately slept in apathy?

And yet it need not be – (that object) hid

From us in life – but common – which doth lie

Each hour before us – but then only bid

With a strange sound, as of a harp-string broken

T’awake us – ’Tis a symbol and a token,