Page:Felicia Hemans in Forget Me Not 1828.pdf/3



She sleeps!—but not the free and sunny sleep That lightly on the brow of childhood lies, Though happy be her rest, and soft, and deep, Yet, ere it sank upon her shadow'd eyes, Thoughts of past scenes and kindred graves o'erswept Her soul's meek stillness—she had pray'd and wept.

And now in visions to her couch they come, The early lost—the beautiful—the dead— That unto her bequeathed a mournful home, Whence with their voices all sweet laughter fled: They rise—the sisters of her youth arise, As from the world where no frail blossom dies.