Which seem’d more pure, or bright, or wild,
The singing fount or laughing child.
To look on all that joy and bloom
Made earth one festal scene,
Where the dull shadow of the tomb
Seem’d as it ne’er had been.
How could one image of decay
Steal o’er the dawn of such clear day?
I saw once more that aspect bright—
The boy’s meek head was bow’d