Nor deem thee of the dead
As mournfully I gaze, sad-hearted one,
On that calm brow and head.
The starry crown of genius could not save
From woman's gift of grief;
The moaning billows o'er thy breast that have
Emblem thy life too brief.
O Margaret! my weak heart-pulses shiver
In wordless woe for thee,
Thy wasted tenderness, thy love that never