Through years or moons the inner weight to bear,
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid
By age in earth: her days and pleasures were
Brief, but delightful—such as had not stayed
Long with her destiny; but she sleeps well
By the sea-shore whereon she loved to dwell.
That isle is now all desolate and bare,
Its dwelling down, its tenants passed away;
None but her own and father’s grave is there
And nothing outward tells of human clay;