How many eyes will shed
Still, o’er your marble bed,
Such drops from memory’s troubled fountains wrung!
While hope hath blights to bear,
While love breathes mortal air,
While roses perish ere to glory sprung!
Yet from a voiceless home,
If some sad mother come
Fondly to linger o’er your lovely rest,
As o’er the cheek’s warm glow,