The flowers planted there by love—
The green and leafy arch above—
The grassy mound—and the polish’d stone—
And the strangers passing, one by one.
I saw it all—yet the heart would rove,
Borne onward by deep cherish’d love,
And I thought of two dear lonely graves
In the far off West, where the willow waves.
O! beautiful Mount Auburn—where
They bury the loved, the brave, the fair!