Oh! Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom
Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom,On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;But on thy turf shall roses rearTheir leaves, the earliest of the year;And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:
And oft by yon blue gushing streamShall Sorrow lean her drooping head,And feed deep thought with many a dream,And lingering pause and lightly tread;Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!
Away! we know that tears are vain,That Death nor heeds nor hears distress:Will this unteach us to complain?Or make one mourner weep the less?And thou--who tell'st me to forget,Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
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