Thou canst not perish. Tho' the sod
Sink with its violets closer to thy breast,
Tho' by the feet of generations trod
The loadstone crumbles from thy place of rest.
The marvel of thy beauty cannot die;
The sweetness of thy presence shall not fade;
Earth gave not all the glory of thine eye;
Death cannot smite what earth ne'er made.
It was not thine, that marble forehead pale and cold.
Nor those dumb lips they laid beneath the snow;
Thy heart would throb beneath that passive fold;
Thy hands, for me, that stony clasp forego.
But thou hast gone. Gone from this dreary land;
Gone from the storms let loose on every hill;
Lured by the sweet persuasion of a band
That leads thee, somewhere, in the distance still.
Where e'er thou art, I know thou wearest yet
The same bewitching beauty, sanctified
By calmer joy, and touched with soft regret
For him who seeks but cannot reach thy side.