Thy slumber for our sorrow’s sake:
The cup of life, with all its zest,
Thy ardent nature quaffed at full;
Now, in the twilight long and cool,
Take thou God’s final gift of rest.
And still below the grape-vine swings;
The Mariposa’s fragile wings
Flutter, red lilies light their flame,
Larks float, the dove still plains and grieves;
But while one heart that loved thee lives,