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Types of lovelier forms than these, In their fragile mould she sees; Shadows of yet richer things, Born beside immortal springs, Into fuller glory wrought, Kindled by surpassing thought!

Therefore, in the lily's leaf, She can read no word of grief; O'er the woodbine she can dwell, Murmuring not—Farewell! farewell! And her dim, yet speaking eye, Greets the violet solemnly.

Therefore, once, and yet again, Strew them o'er her bed of pain; From her chamber take the gloom, With a light and flush of bloom: So should one depart, who goes Where no Death can touch the rose!