“To play on the grass with thee;”
But the boy look’d frighten’d, and held his breath,
In the midst of his childish glee.
“Away, away from my flowers,” he said,
“For I know, and love thee not”—
Death look’d at the boy, and shook his head:
Then slowly he left the spot.
He met a maiden in girlhood’s bloom,
And the rose on her cheek was bright,
And she shuddered, as tho’ a ghost from the tomb