| | That never felt a storm! The sunbeam's smile, the zephyr's breath, All that it knew from birth to death.
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| | Thou wert so like a form of light, That Heaven benignly called thee hence, Ere yet the world could breathe one blight O'er thy sweet innocence: And thou, that brighter home to bless, Art passed, with all thy loveliness!
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| | Oh! hadst thou still on earth remained, Vision of beauty! fair as brief! How soon thy brightness had been stained With passion or with grief! Now not a sullying breath can rise To dim thy glory in the skies.
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| | We rear no marble o'er thy tomb; No sculptured image there shall mourn; Ah! fitter far the vernal bloom Such dwelling to adorn. Fragrance, and flowers, and dews must be The only emblems meet for thee.
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| | Thy grave shall be a blessed shrine, Adorned with Nature's brightest wreath; Each glowing season shall combine Its incense there to breathe; And oft upon the midnight air, Shall viewless harps be murmuring there.
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