O, insatiable monster! Could’st thou not In pity turn aside thy venomed shaft From her my gifted, darling friend? Has sympathy within thy breast No trysting place? That thou must come At spring-time when the flowerets bloom To bear my loved one to the tomb?
So young was she; life’s woes had not yet dimmed The joyous sunshine of her girlhood’s days; She did not quaff the dregs of time, But, like some rosebud prematurely culled, She sped away, and o’er her grave So peacefully the willows wave, And dewdrops, her calm bosom lave.
Tread not the earth where sleeps my loved one’s form; But place it lightly on her marble brow. Bid birdies sing at set of sun To gladden Fannie’s lowly home; Bid rippling springs with shining spray, And sylvan notes and songsters lay Unite, to chase the gloom away.