She kneels by the grave where her lover sleeps;
With a cypress and rose she has crown'd it;
And there her lonely vigil keeps,
While the moonlight beams surround it,
Her hair is loose to the chill night gale;
No more with spring flowers she'll braid it:
Her dark eye is dim, her cheek is pale—
Sorrow can swiftly fade it.
She has knelt by that grave for many a day—
Morn and even still found her beside it:
Soon will that mourner be past away—
Her grief, the cold grave will hide it.
Her spring of youth was fair for awhile,
And then the dark cloud came o'er it;
When once the blight checks the rose's smile,
Where is the spell to restore it?