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The painted leaves were drooping round The rich but burning heart they bound. She spoke,—oh! never music's tone Hath sadder, sweeter cadence known:— "With jarring creed, and hostile line,   And heart with fate at enmity, This wasting flower is emblem mine,    'Tis faded, it hath but to die."

I took those leaves of faded bloom To ; ‘t was of both the doom. He died the first of the battle line, When red blood dims the sabre's shine; He died the early death of the brave, And the place of the battle was that of his grave. She died as dies a breath of song Borne on the winds of evening along;