120
miscellaneous poems.
Her lips, half parted, were in prayer,
Low bent the graceful head;
Her words they seemed to echo there,
E'en when her soul had fled.
Low bent the graceful head;
Her words they seemed to echo there,
E'en when her soul had fled.
The story, 'twas a simple one.
Of loving feelings borne,
Till passion's own intensity
Had the young dreamer worn.
Of loving feelings borne,
Till passion's own intensity
Had the young dreamer worn.
In silence and in solitude
It preyed within her breast,
A secret guarded faithfully,
And scarce to Heaven confessed.
It preyed within her breast,
A secret guarded faithfully,
And scarce to Heaven confessed.
There was one mourner at her tomb,
A stranger seemed he here;
All marvell'd how his strong frame shook,
When standing by her bier.
A stranger seemed he here;
All marvell'd how his strong frame shook,
When standing by her bier.
And when the earth had closed her in,
And the last prayer was said,
They heard him mutter, "Would that I
Were buried with the dead!"
And the last prayer was said,
They heard him mutter, "Would that I
Were buried with the dead!"
