Of Beauty's finger faintly press'd it there,—
Alas! Consumption is her name.
Thou loved and loving one!
From the dark languish of thy liquid eye,
So exquisitely rounded, darts a ray
Of truth, prophetic of thine early doom;
And on thy placid cheek there is a print
Of death,—the beauty of consumption there.
Few note that fatal bloom; for bless'd by all,
Thou movest through thy noiseless sphere, the life,