Cradled beneath my mother's smile.
That mother sleeps! the snow-white shroud
Enfolds her stainless bosom now,
And, like bright hues on some pale cloud,
Rose-leaves were woven round her brow.
I wreathed them that to heaven's pure bowers,
Surrounded with the breath of flowers,
Her soul might soar through mists divine,
Like incense from a holy shrine.
How changed my being! moments sweep