Have soft eyes shed their light;
Frail phantoms of a fevered brain—
Their ray has sunk in night.
And thus, when earthly trust hath perished,
And earthly joy hath fled—
When hopes my fond heart loved and cherished
Are lying with the dead—
Oh! may there not in yonder heaven
Be for my brow a wreath,
Whose fadeless flowers shall ne’er be riven