The day was near its close;

And where the cool, tall grasses wave,

She lay a fresh-cut rose.

Then, from a silver waiter near,

She drew a wreath of white,

Besprinkled with the twilight’s tear,

O’ershaded with the night,

And placed them on the green-kept mound.

I watched her kneeling there,

Her face bent on the sacred ground,

In attitude of prayer;

And while a bird sang soft his hymn,

Down-looking from above,

We saw unveiled a picture dim—

A statue true of love.