Wreathed in many a shining braid,
Sad, autumnal flowers were laid.
Slowly to thy tomb they bore thee,
Tender farewells murmured o’er thee,
Veiled thee in its silence deep,
In thy last and dreamless sleep.
Where thou liest, soft and low,
Winter spreads his sheet of snow,
Pure and spotless as thy form.
Thou hearest not the surly storm