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Her simple turf the young spring floweret wears,
And the pale primrose grows upon her tomb;
And when the storm its little blossom tears,
It bows its head—an emblem of her doom!
And the pale primrose grows upon her tomb;
And when the storm its little blossom tears,
It bows its head—an emblem of her doom!
THE SISTERS.
She died in summer eve—the last light pale
Of lingering twilight on her languid eyes,
Around her the last zephyr's gentle gale,
And on her ear soft evening melodies;
She died midst fragrant dews, and closing flowers,
Her last sigh mingling with the parting breath
Of the delicious summer evening hours;
Her last faint sigh—oh! it was not like death.
Of lingering twilight on her languid eyes,
Around her the last zephyr's gentle gale,
And on her ear soft evening melodies;
She died midst fragrant dews, and closing flowers,
Her last sigh mingling with the parting breath
Of the delicious summer evening hours;
Her last faint sigh—oh! it was not like death.
And did she gaze on all the radiant bloom
That shone around her hi its careless pride?
Amid the coldness of approaching doom,
Of living beauty saw she aught beside?
Bright flower, soft ah-,and richly glowing skies,
Had these her heart—had these her dying sighs?
That shone around her hi its careless pride?
Amid the coldness of approaching doom,
Of living beauty saw she aught beside?
Bright flower, soft ah-,and richly glowing skies,
Had these her heart—had these her dying sighs?
