Page:Records of Woman.pdf/85

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And she was passing from the woods away; The broken flower of England might not stay Amidst those alien shades; her eye was bright Ev'n yet with something of a starry light, But her form wasted, and her fair young cheek Wore oft and patiently a fatal streak, A rose whose root was death. The parting sigh Of autumn thro' the forests had gone by, And the rich maple o'er her wanderings lone Its crimson leaves in many a shower had strown, Flushing the air; and winter's blast had been Amidst the pines; and now a softer green Fring'd their dark boughs; for spring again had come, The sunny spring! but Edith to her home Was journeying fast. Alas! we think it sad To part with life, when all the earth looks glad In her young lovely things, when voices break Into sweet sounds, and leaves and blossoms wake: Is it not brighter then, in that far clime Where graves are not, nor blights of changeful time,