Ponder, or ere ye speed away,
Those feet o'er flowers were form'd to stray,
No death-wrought causeway, grimly wrought,
Of ghastly bones and mould'ring clay.
To gayer thoughts and scenes arise;
Nor ever veil those sun-bright eyes
From sight of bliss and light of day—
Save when in pity to mankind
Love's fillet o'er their lids ye bind.