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 And many an antenatal tomb, Where butterflies dream of the life to come, She left clinging round the smooth and dark Edge of the odorous cedar bark.

This fairest creature from earliest spring Thus moved through the garden ministering All the sweet season of summer tide, And ere the first leaf looked brown—she died!

Three days the flowers of the garden fair, Like stars when the moon is awakened, were, Or the waves of Baiæ, ere luminous She floats up through the smoke of Vesuvius.

And on the fourth, the Sensitive Plant Felt the sound of the funeral chaunt, And the steps of the bearers, heavy and slow, And the sobs of the mourners deep and low;