Page:Poetical Remains.pdf/151

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Hope, Fortune, Love, smiled brightly on thy birth, Thine hour of death is all Affliction's own! It is our task to suffer—and our fate To learn that mighty lesson, soon or late.

The season's glory fades—the vintage-lay Through joyous Italy resounds no more; But mortal loveliness hath passed away, Fairer than aught in summer's glowing store. Beauty and youth are gone—behold them such As Death hath made them with his blighting touch!

The summer's breath came o'er them—and they died! Softly it came, to give luxuriance birth, Called forth young Nature in her festal pride, But bore to them their summons from the earth! Again shall blow that mild, delicious breeze, And wake to life and light all flowers—but these.

No sculptured urn, nor verse thy virtues telling, O lost and loveliest one! adorns thy grave,