Peace; come away: the song of woe Is after all an earthly song: Peace; come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go.
Come; let us go: your cheeks are pale; But half my life I leave behind: Methinks my friend is richly shrined; But I shall pass; my work will fail.
Yet in these ears, till hearing dies, One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever look'd with human eyes.
I hear it now, and o'er and o'er, Eternal greetings to the dead; And "Ave, Ave, Ave," said, "Adieu, adieu," for evermore.
-Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto LVII