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ELEGIAC, 
Tue flowers I strew upon thy grave, 
Are wet with many a sorrowing tear, 
Alas ! they had not power to save 
Thy head from resting here ! 
Their fragrance here they sweetly shed, 
And seem their gentle heads to bow, 
snd weep upon the narrow bed 
Where low thou liest now. 
I can but weep to see them bloom 
At morning still so freshly fair, 
At evening withering on thy tomb; 
Whilst I who placed them there 
Can read thy emblem in their doom,— 
So pure—so loved—so early lost— 
Departing in life’s brightest bloom 
Ere grief thy heart had crost ! 
I turn away with many a sigh, 
For here there breathes some holy spell t 
Too prized to live—too loved to die— 
How can I say farewell ! 
