This page has been validated.
EURYDICE
109
Yet still I wait for thee!
And thou wilt come!—wilt come—wilt come to me!
The hours delay; I make no moan,—
Apart from thee,—yet not alone,—
Sweeter than far-off music sighing,
I hear thy voice forever crying:—
"Eurydice!—lost, lost Eurydice!"
