Of joys departed—yet, farewell!
Was this the maid who seem’d, erewhile,
Born but to meet life’s vernal smile?
A being, almost on the wing,
As an embodied breeze of spring?
A child of beauty and of bliss,
Sent from some purer sphere to this—
Not, in her exile, to sustain
The trial of one earthly pain;
But, as a sunbeam, on to move,