Canto LVII

In those sad words I took farewell:

      Like echoes in sepulchral halls,

      As drop by drop the water falls

In vaults and catacombs, they fell;

And, falling, idly broke the peace

      Of hearts that beat from day to day,

      Half-conscious of their dying clay,

And those cold crypts where they shall cease.

The high Muse answer'd: ‘Wherefore grieve

      Thy brethren with a fruitless tear?

      Abide a little longer here,

And thou shalt take a nobler leave.'