How oft amid the virgin throng,
      I’ve seen thee, fairest, dance along;
      And thine eyes, so brightly dark,
      Gleaming like the diamond’s spark;
          But now how dim
        Those orbs are left—­
        By Death bereft
        Of their brightness,
        And that neck of its whiteness,
      Where once the curling tress descended,
      Where once the rose and lily blended,
          As the warm blush came and flew;
      Now o’er all hath Death extended
        His pallid hue—­
        Sallow and blue;
      And sunken ’neath the purple lid,
      Those eyes are hid,
          Once so bright;
And the shroud, as thine own pure spirit white,
All that remains of what was once so lovely, holds! 
          In its snowy folds—­
      Then fare thee well, sweet one,
      Thy bright, thy fleeting race is run,
      And with the flowers thou art sleeping,
      And o’er thy grave the friends are weeping
          Of thine early day. 
      Thou wert lovely—­aye, as Spring,
      When birds and blossoms bloom and sing,
      The happy, happy hours welcoming
          Of gentle May. 
        In the past I see thee shining,
          Like the star of tender morning,
        A day of love and peace divining,
          And the sky of Hope adorning. 
      Smiles—­that dimpled mouth are wreathing;
      Music—­those rosy lips are breathing,
      Like morn glancing through the sky,
      Like the zephyr’s softest sigh. 
      Ah, then, who’d dream that aught so fair,
      Was fleeting as the Summer air? 
          Yet in that hour
Disease, so deceitful, stole upon thee,
          As blight upon a flower;
          And thou art dead! 
      And thy spirit’s past away. 
      Like a dew-drop from the spray,
      Like a sunbeam from the mountain,
      Like a bubble from the fountain;
        And thou art now at rest,
          In thy damp, narrow cell,
        With the clod heap’d o’er thy breast;
          Fare thee well!

ASPHODEL.

I’ll think of thee, I’ll think of thee,
  When raging tempests wildly blow,
Mid storm and darkness—­wond’rous powers! 
  Heaping the stainless, virgin snow
Above thy fragile form, that bowed
  Beneath the blighting frost that fell,
Scattering o’er earth those gorgeous hues,
  Thy grace and pride, sweet Asphodel.

I’ll think of thee, I’ll think of thee,
  When dreary winter leaves the plain,
And smiling spring leads forth in state,
  With vestal pride, her flow’ry train,
And vernal songs of love and hope,
  In one harmonious concert swell—­
Amid the floral throng I’ll turn
  To thee, alone, sweet Asphodel.

I’ll think of thee, I’ll think of thee,
  When morning dawns upon the world,
And through the golden gates of Heaven,
  Like fiery cars his beams are hurled,
Driving the shades of somber night,
  Back to their caverned haunts to dwell—­
Thou’lt come to me with charms renewed,
  My peerless flower, sweet Asphodel.