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Wreathed in her shadowy tresses shall
The roses blissful burn;
Wan lilies at her feet shall lie,
And wind-flowers on her bosom sigh.
"Here, from this rough and lowly bed,
The little celandine
Shall lift her sunny glances to
The balmy eglantine;
And flags shall flaunt by yonder lake,
And fair Narcissus there awake."
I know the Summer fell asleep
Long weary months ago;
But ah! all is not lost, poor heart,
That's laid beneath the snow;
There wait, grown cold to care and strife,
Things costliest, dying into life:
All changes, but Life ceases not
With the suspended breath;
There is no bourne to Being, and
No permanence in Death;
Time flows to an eternal sea,
Space widens to Infinity!
