He sleeps within a nameless grave,
Where spring's luxuriant blossoms wave,
For summer's reign is nigh.
The solitude around his tomb
Is beautiful as Eden's bloom
Ere beauty learned to die.
Her fairest and most fragrant flowers
Kind May in bright profusion showers
Upon that lovely spot;
Where the sick heart and weary head
Rest in their last dark, narrow bed,
Forgetting and forgot.
No drooping mourners kneel beside
That lonely grave at eventide.
And bathe them with their tears;
But oft the balmy dews of night
Lave it in pity, when the light
Of kindling stars appears.
No loved ones breathe the holy prayer,
But nature's incense fills the air,
And seeks the distant sky.
Her artless hymn the song-bird sings.
The dreamy hum of insect wings,
Are prayers that never die.
