Page:Keepsake 1831.pdf/2



the roses all faded, that thus you should wear A wreath from the dark cypress tree in your hair? Are the violets wither'd, that funeral green Should thus mid your long golden tresses be seen?

Come, maiden, the evening's last crimson has dyed With the hue of its blushes the pearls at your side; And wreath'd flowers like summer's are bright in each fold Of the white robe whose border is heavy with gold.