O! she is gone! the wintry blasts, that sweep
Wild round her mansion, trouble not her sleep:
Gone in her beauty! Fast the drifting snows
Fall cold, but harmless, o'er her deep repose!
Here, in her circle of its gem bereft,
Love hath but tears to fill the place she left.
Sigh calls to sigh, from aching bosoms drawn.
Void gives to void the mournful echo, "gone!"
Spring will return, and bring around her door
Sweet opening flowers, their odors there to pour,
Striving to win her forth, who planted them,
Once more to smile that they adorn the stem.
Yet, must they wait her, till they die away:
She was a fairer, lovelier flower than they,
Snapped off in blooming! ere a leaf could fade,
Cast into darkness! wrapped in silent shade!
O! she is gone; and where shall burdened grief
Pour forth her fountains for the soul's relief?
Not to the dust to nourish earthly weeds:
They yield no balsam while the spirit bleeds!
Not unto death let sorrow's waters flow,
But to death's victor may the weeper go!
His risen glory, chasing mortal gloom,
Shows grief a rainbow, bending o'er the tomb.