And lovely jewels that the years have dropped
Around me from their pinions, in their swift
And noiseless flight to old Eternity,
Are treasured there. A thousand buds and flowers
That the cool dews of life’s young morning bathed,
That its soft gales fanned with their gentle wings,
And that its genial sunbeams warmed to life
And fairy beauty ’mid the melodies
Of founts and singing birds, lie hoarded there,
Dead, dead, forever dead, but oh, as bright