These flowers that soothe me with their fragrant breath,
In rank luxuriance o’er my head shall grow.
‘Oh! happy thou who sleep’st this sod beneath!’
My friend will say—‘whose path, though lone and low,
Hath led thee to a better land at last,
Where thou canst smile at fate, nor feel his blast!’
TO EVENING.
Whether in smiles and tears, with dripping hair,
Spring gently woo thee to her flowery bed—
Or with white feet and glowing bosom bare,