Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/315



not, weep not, that in the spring We have to make a grave; The flowers will grow, the birds will sing, The early roses wave; And make the sod we're spreading fair, For her who sleeps below: We might not bear to lay her there In winter frost and snow.

We never hoped to keep her long, When but a fairy child, With dancing step, and birdlike song, And eyes that only smiled;