4 Oh! wrong me not thus—not to triumph I come 
O’er the brake without song and the meads without 
bloom; 
For had such been my wish, I had borrow’d the crest 
Of the gay flaunting tulip, or poppy’s bright vest; 
But so homely of form, and so sickly of hue, 
What have I with ambition or triumph to do ? 
By the sound of the wind, by the gloom of the sky, 
Oh ! I know that the death-pang of nature is nigh, 
And I come when the fragrant and bright pass away, 
To cheer by my presence her languid decay. 
Nor heed I the chill dew upon my breast lying, 
’T is the tear which affection sheds over the dying; 
And the cold and the gloom I do pensively brave, 
For I would not that sunbeams should shine on her grave. 
O Lady ! should sorrow ere darken that brow 
Where hope all unclouded rests cheerily now, 
And the throng that now court thee in pleasure’s gay 
hour, 
Pass away in thy grief, as with summer the flower; 
May one friend yet be left thee thy cares to beguile, 
And to share in thy grief as she shared in thy smile ! 
Then think of the blossom which comes forth to cheer 
When all else have departed, the fall of the year.’ 
