What doest thou in heaven, O moon? Say, silent moon, what doest thou? Thou risest in the evening; thoughtfully Thou wanderest o'er the plain, Then sinkest to thy rest again. And art thou never satisfied...
Such wast thou: now in earth below, Dust and a skeleton thou art. Above thy bones and clay, Here vainly placed by loving hands, Sole guardian of memory and woe, The image of departed beauty stands....
Here, on the arid ridge Of dead Vesuvius, Exterminator terrible, That by no other tree or flower is cheered, Thou scatterest thy lonely leaves around, O fragrant flower,...