Came stealing o'er the brow of night,—
The stars shone out from depths profound,
Like bands of angels hov'ring round,
Who look from off each lofty seat,
To watch lest snares beguile our feet.
Though this was airy fancy's dream,
Yet still it doth an emblem seem,
Of her who lies before us now
With such calm beauty on her brow.
Death's icy fingers plucked the rose,