  A little apart from the rest, Unnoticed and alone, No crypt or costly monument, Nor rich engraven stone. A little lonely weed-grown mound But marks the silent spot Of all that now is left of her, The fair, so soon forgot. The summer hath kindly given A few wild fragrant flowers To deck her lonely, neglected grave In meekness from her bowers. And nature’s song is there trilling A soothing lullaby, And in the rustling foliage The wind breathes sigh for sigh To the voice of wavelets murmuring In whispers deep and low, Of a maiden fair as summer That perished long ago. Meek and loving and gentle, Pure as the angels are Was her every thought and feeling, Her soul was bright as a star. I’m filled with a deathless longing, Aleene, kneeling by thee; But the years are slowly waning Into eternity. Where love and life ne’er dies, In a land of summers fadeless, In the vales of paradise? |
|
