GONE art thou, then, O mystical musician! Pure-thoughted singer of these sinful years! No more shall dreams and doubts and hopes and fears Pa** and repa** before thy stricken vision; No more from thine high sorrowing position Shall fall thy song-irradiated tears; Alas! no more against our listening years Shall new lays ring from thy lone lute elysian. For unto thee at last has rest been given, Whether in sleep eternal by the shore Of Time's wide ocean or in song without Or break or flaw, by the gold bar of that heaven From which the Blessed Damozel leaned out, Sighing for thee in the sad days of yore.