University of Virginia Library

What can a painted portrait do?
Will that her memory guard?
I must remember—to forget—
GOD knows that would be hard!
'Tis winter with her—on her cheek
And brow there's not a rose,
Yet winter has its snow, and see
Like untouched mountain snows
Her brow above the sable bier
Pale as a star-beam shows.
As o'er a midnight sea of foam
A ray from a higher sphere
Shines, so she beamed upon my heart
Surging with grief and fear.
As one who looks upon a tree
Whose leaves are falling fast
When all are fallen—he sees the moon
Stand grand above the blast;
So shall her soul rise high and clear
When earth's decay is o'er—
Not dust to dust but flower to flowers,
So she for evermore
Shall blossom in the earth we tread,
In which we lay her stilly,
May she make rosier the rose
And lovelier the lily,
More vivid all the violets
And when the swinging trees
Moan, let her voice be heard still, soft
And in the evening breeze
Let her sweet tones, companionless
As nightingales in song,
Flood moonlit lattices and soothe
A breast that burns with wrong.
So may she soothe my troubled heart
With air from calmer sphere.

This lock which never now can fade
I'll keep, nor shed a tear.