How deep was that slumber, how quiet that rest,
’Twas the sleep from which no one awakens again.
Morn returned in its freshness, and flowers that she loved
In beauty and fragrance were blooming around;
The birds caroled sweetly the whole live-long day,
But that strange mystic sleep all her senses had bound.
Day followed day until summer was gone,
And autumn still found her alone and asleep;
Stern winter soon followed, but its loud blasts and shrill,
Were powerless to rouse her from slumber so deep.