Music I heard with you was more than music
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead

Your hands once touched this table and this silver
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass
These things do not remember you, beloved
And yet your touch upon them will not pass

For it was in my heart that you moved among them
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always, -
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise