| |
| WITHER’D pansies faint and sweet, | |
| O’er his breast in silence shed, | |
| Faded lilies o’er his feet, | |
| Waning roses round his head, | |
| Where in dreamless sleep he lies— | 5 |
| Folded palms and sealed eyes— | |
| Young Love, within my bosom—dead. | |
| |
| Young Love that was so fond, so fair, | |
| With his mouth of rosy red, | |
| Argent wing and golden hair, | 10 |
| And those blue eyen, glory-fed | |
| From some fount of splendor, far | |
| Beyond or moon or sun or star— | |
| And can it be that he is dead? | |
| |
| Ay! his breast is cold as snow: | 15 |
| Pulse and breath forever fled; | |
| If I kiss’d him ever so, | |
| To my kiss he were as lead; | |
| If I clipp’d him as of yore | |
| He would answer me on more | 20 |
| With lip or hand—for he is dead. | |
| |
| But breathe no futile sigh; no tear | |
| Smirch his pure and lonely bed. | |
| Let no foolish cippus rear | |
| Its weight above him. Only spread | 25 |
| Rose, lily, pale forget-me-not, | |
| And pansies round the silent spot | |
| Where in his youth he lieth—dead | |
| |
