MONODY OF THE COUNTESS OF NETTLESTEDE.
Oh vernal sun, how cold thy beams to me!
Since they can never more illume
His face, my heart’s idolatry,
That now, alas! immersed in urnal gloom,
Far, far below thy golden glances lies,
Wrapt from these yearning arms and weeping eyes!
In vain for me, sweet flowers, ye reassume
Your vestments rare of oriental dyes;
Your subtle fragrance and your glorious bloom