Feliz cumpleaños, Luz
Tears, Idle Tears
Tears, Idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail.
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
sad as the last which reddens over one
that sinks with all we love below the verge;
so sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer
the earliest pipe of half-awakened dawns birds
to dying ears, when into dying eyes
the casemen slowly growns a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret
Death in Life, the days that are no more.

Songs from the Princess, 1847
Alfred Lord Tennyson