And she would sleep beside them—
It may not be! for the sea is deep,
And the waves—the waves divide them!
It may not be! for the flush is flown,
That lighted her lily cheek—
'Twas the passing beam, ere the sun goes down.—
Life's last and loveliest streak.
'Tis gone, and a dew is o'er her now—
The dew of the mornless eve—
No morrow will shine on that pallid brow,