And with thee fade away into the forest dim-
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan...

~Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

I cannot presume I know
It is Dido's own, and not mine
Though it echos through time
To touch us of this day.

But no; you were not meant to die
Immortal bird, sing again
The spirit that soars on high
should not forget
dear friend of mine.