University of Virginia Library


90

ON A DECEASED LADY.

The spirit of the beautiful is gone!
No more do I behold that form of grace
Too frail for life, that earnest speaking face,
The seraph lustre in those eyes that shone.
Oh! thou art snatcht from earth, thou lovely one!
Yet in my soul's remembrance thou a place
Shalt ever hold; no other form can chase
Thine image thence; for there is like thee none.
Oft from her stem the rose ungently torn
Falls in the lap of earth, yet on the wind
Her fragrance to refresh new life is borne:
And thou art early lost, yet leav'st behind
Heart-quickening thoughts, that make us less forlorn.
Then fare thee well, thou flower of womankind!