To D--

In thee, I fondly hop'd to clasp A friend, whom death alone could sever; Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach'd thee from my breast for ever. True, she has forc'd thee from my _breast_, Yet, in my _heart_, thou keep'st thy seat; There, there, thine image still must rest, Until that heart shall cease to beat. And, when the grave restores her dead, When life again to dust is given, On _thy dear_ breast I'll lay my head-- Without _thee!…