To D--

In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp

A friend, whom death alone could sever;

Till envy, with malignant grasp,

Detach'd thee from my breast for ever.

True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_,

Yet, in my _heart_, thou keep'st thy seat;

There, there, thine image still must rest,

Until that heart shall cease to beat.

And, when the grave restores her dead,

When life again to dust is given,

On _thy dear_ breast I'll lay my head--

Without _thee! where_ would be _my Heaven?_