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the unforgotten one.
'Twas there we talked of love, of truth, and joy,
The blush still deep'ning on her youthful cheek;
There, in her timid, half-averted eye,
I read more tenderness than worlds can speak.
But, ah! she was too good, and kind, and dear—
Too gentle and belov'd for this cold earth;
Not long she grac'd our troubl'd pathway here;
Alas for beauty, and alas for worth!
She died in loveliness, like some fair flower
Pluck'd in its beauty from its parent stem
We lost her in her sweetest, brightest hour,
Like some fair pearl from a diadem.
I knew it was the hand of death had flung
The snowy paleness o'er her youthful brow
And yet to hope my trembling spirit clung,
Like autumn's last leaf to the wither'd bough.
But long her mem'ry shall be treasur'd where
Nought of this world shall ever mix alloy,
Nor time, nor change, nor years of bliss or care,
Shall her bright image from my heart destroy!
The blush still deep'ning on her youthful cheek;
There, in her timid, half-averted eye,
I read more tenderness than worlds can speak.
But, ah! she was too good, and kind, and dear—
Too gentle and belov'd for this cold earth;
Not long she grac'd our troubl'd pathway here;
Alas for beauty, and alas for worth!
She died in loveliness, like some fair flower
Pluck'd in its beauty from its parent stem
We lost her in her sweetest, brightest hour,
Like some fair pearl from a diadem.
I knew it was the hand of death had flung
The snowy paleness o'er her youthful brow
And yet to hope my trembling spirit clung,
Like autumn's last leaf to the wither'd bough.
But long her mem'ry shall be treasur'd where
Nought of this world shall ever mix alloy,
Nor time, nor change, nor years of bliss or care,
Shall her bright image from my heart destroy!
