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 green thou flowret of the tomb—

O wretched is the maiden's doom.

Three years I waited—lingering on—

He came not; when three years were gone."

didst thou here, sweet maiden! say,

Didst come t' weep for one away?

And did thy blooming roses fade,

When distance threw me the shade?

did I?—Nothing—but despair;

Sigh'd with the breezes of the air;

Wept with the melancholy dew—

Love from the maiden's bosom flew—

I am betroth'd—and wedded too."