  She died in beauty,—like a rose Blown from its parent stem; She died in beauty,—like a pearl Dropped from some diadem. She died in beauty,—like a lay Along a moonlit lake; She died in beauty,—like the song Of birds amid the brake. She died in beauty,—like the snow On flowers dissolved away; She died in beauty,—like a star Lost on the brow of day. She lives in glory,—like night's gems Set round the silver moon; She lives in glory,—like the sun Amid the blue of June. Charles Doyne Sillery. |
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