Page:Landon in Literary Gazette 1826.pdf/12

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breath is failing on my lips, The light is fading from my eye! My summons hath gone forth in spring— I know that I must die.

Fall, fall to earth, ye fragile leaves. And hide from my lone mother's sorrow The last and lowly dwelling-place Where I shall be to-morrow!

But should the fading twilight bring Mine own dear maiden here to weep, I cannot lose such precious tears— Wake my soul from its sleep.—

His low voice fail'd—the morrow came— But not to him—and strangers made, Amid the fallen leaves, his grave, Beneath the oak tree's shade.

The twilight darken'd, and the winds Pined like a dirge upon the air; Like tears the leaves fell from the boughs,— But never came his false love there. IOLE.