Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/Sonnet 3
Ah! now farewell, thou sweet and gentle maid,
Beside thy simple grave we oft shall mourn;
And plant a willow where thy form is laid,
And then with flowers the weeping tree adorn.
Oft shall we sing thy melancholy tale,
When all the shades of evening steal around;
And oft assemble by the moonlight pale,
To linger near the consecrated ground.
And oh! if spirits e'er on earth descend,
To hover o'er some chosen hallow'd spot;
Around thy tomb shall airy bands attend,
And humble villagers shall weep thy lot.
Ah! fair departed maid, thy placid mind
Was calm in sorrow, and to Heaven resign'd.