ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴍᴇ

Forget the dead, the past? O yet

There are ghosts that may take revenge for it,

Memories that make the heart a tomb,

Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom,

And with ghastly whispers tell

That joy, once lost, is pain.