And is she dead?—and did they dare

Obey my Frenzy's jealous raving?[md]

My Wrath but doomed my own despair:

The sword that smote her 's o'er me waving.—

But thou art cold, my murdered Love!

And this dark heart is vainly craving[me]

For he who soars alone above,

And leaves my soul unworthy saving.