I see thee still! thou art not dead,
  Though dust is mingled with thy form;
The broken sunbeam hath not shed
  The final rainbow on the storm:
In visions of the midnight deep,
  Thine accents through my bosom thrill
Till joy’s fond impulse bids me weep,—
  For, wrapt in thought, I see thee still!

I see thee still,—that cheek of...