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DEATH OF THE BEAUTIFUL MISS * * * * *
The eye was dim which brightly shone;
That brow was cold; that heart was still;
The witcheries of that form had flown;
The lifeless clay had ceased to feel.
That brow was cold; that heart was still;
The witcheries of that form had flown;
The lifeless clay had ceased to feel.
I saw her wedded to the grave;
Her bridal robes were weeds of death;
And o'er her pale, cold brow was hung
The damp sepulchral icy wreath.
Her bridal robes were weeds of death;
And o'er her pale, cold brow was hung
The damp sepulchral icy wreath.
