O Lovely Head

O lovely head of the woman that I loved,

In the middle of the night I remember thee:

But reality returns with the sun’s whitening,

Alas, that the slender worm gnaws thee to-night.

Beloved voice, that wast low and beautiful,

Is it true that I heard thee in my slumbers!

Or is the knowledge true that tortures me?

My grief, the tomb hath no sound or voice?