My daughter! with thy name this song begun!

My daughter! with thy name thus much shall end!—

I see thee not—I hear thee not—but none

Can be so wrapt in thee; Thou art the Friend

To whom the shadows of far years extend:

Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold,

My voice shall with thy future visions blend,

And reach into thy heart,—when mine is cold,—

A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould.