The hours passed unseen and unheeded
Till the dawning grew bright in the skies,
Then her white lids, with languid unclosing,
Revealed the soft light of her eyes.
She pressed the last kiss on his forehead,
And murmured in music so low,
“On my grave plant the pale blooming roses
That only a summer-life know.”
She slept: and they laid her with weeping,
In the greenwood so solemn and still: