O heavy herse!
Thereof nought remains but the memory;
O careful verse!
"Ah me! that dreary death should strike so mortal stroke,
That can undo Dame Nature's kindly course;
The faded locks fall from the lofty oak,
The floods do gasp, for dried is their source,
And floods of tears flow in their stead perforce:
The mantled meadows mourn,
Their sundry colours turn.