Page:Landon in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book 1837.pdf/53



Lay her in the gentle earth, Where the summer maketh mirth; Where young violets have birth; Where the lily bendeth. Lay her there, the lovely one! With the rose, her funeral stone; And for tears, such showers alone As the rain of April lendeth.

From the midnight’s quiet hour Will come dews of holy power, O’er the sweetest human flower That was ever loved. But she was too fair and dear For our troubled pathway here; Heaven, that was her natural sphere, Has its own removed.