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 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
A DIRGE, TO L. E. L.
Far away, ah! far away
From her own green isle she died,
And for shroud that wraps decay
Early changed the garb of bride.
Fatal to our northern flower
Was the glare of tropic day;
Wretched was her dying hour,
Far away!
From her own green isle she died,
And for shroud that wraps decay
Early changed the garb of bride.
Fatal to our northern flower
Was the glare of tropic day;
Wretched was her dying hour,
Far away!
Never more, ah! never more
Will she glad the festal throng,
Faded is the look she wore,
Voiceless is her lip of song.
Gifted daughter of the Nine!
Well may friends thy fate deplore,
They will hear a strain like thine
Never more!
Will she glad the festal throng,
Faded is the look she wore,
Voiceless is her lip of song.
Gifted daughter of the Nine!
Well may friends thy fate deplore,
They will hear a strain like thine
Never more!
Fare thee well, ah! fare thee well!
Dark thy life grew near its close;
Mildew on thy spirit fell
Like wan blight upon the rose.
Ended is thy warbling now,
Mistress of the chorded shell;
Dust is on thy withered brow,
Fare thee well!
Dark thy life grew near its close;
Mildew on thy spirit fell
Like wan blight upon the rose.
Ended is thy warbling now,
Mistress of the chorded shell;
Dust is on thy withered brow,
Fare thee well!
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |