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Hath shut above thy head—that graceful head;
The sea-weed mingles with thy clustering locks;
The white sail never will bring back the loved!

By the blue waters—the restless ocean waters,
Restless as they with their many-flashing surges,
Lonely I wander, weeping for my lov'd one!

Where art thou—where?—had I but lingering prest
On thy cold lips the last long kiss,—but smooth'd
The parted ringlets of thy shining hair
With love's fond touch, my heart's cry had been still'd
Into a voiceless grief;—I would have strew'd
With all the pale flowers of the vernal woods,—
White violets, and the mournful hyacinth,
And frail anemone, thy marble brow,
In slumber beautiful!—I would have heap'd
Sweet boughs and precious odours on thy pyre,
And with mine own shorn tresses hung thine urn,
And many a garland of the pallid rose,—