Her raven hair in ringlets wave;
The music of her voice is o’er,
And her light step is in the grave.
No more will mortal eye behold
That form so lovely, soft, and fair;
Now blending with the earth’s damp mould,
Or scattered through the realms of air.
Her tears are dried, but she hath left
To us a legacy of tears;
To be of her sweet love bereft