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iii.
And old things flee and new arrive;
And still he lingers on the earth,—
My friend is still alive.
Or if sometimes he be not here,
Like flowerets of the Spring,
Soon doth his beauty reappear,
A renovated thing.
Kin to all love and nobleness,
All glory is his heir;
No deed to praise, no sight to bless
Comes out, but he is there.
Is he alive in truth, or dead and dull
And lost, for ever lost to mortal eye?
O friend, so noble and so beautiful
While earth is fair, to me thou canst not die!
