Page:Elegiac Sonnets 2.pdf/91

78

But Love, and Joy, and all their train, are flown; E'en languid Hope no more is mine, And I will sing of thee alone, Unless, perchance, the attributes of Grief, The cypress bud, and willow leaf, Their pale funereal foliage blend with thine.

Hail, lovely blossom!—thou canst ease The wretched victims of Disease; Canst close those weary eyes in gentle sleep, Which never open but to weep; For, oh! thy potent charm Can agonizing Pain disarm; Expel imperious Memory from her seat, And bid the throbbing heart forget to beat.