AS from the bush a rose we break, Thou'rt gone to thy repose; Thine eyes did my whole life-light make, My hands their lids must close. They loudly grieved, watched thy last sleep, To thee with kisses clung; Naught did I, but, in darkness deep, My hands in anguish wrung. They brought thee flowers to enwreath Thy form with garlands fair; I laid my heart thy feet beneath, Within the tomb's chill air. They planted a green willow-tree To beautify thy grave; But I its branches with a sea Of hot tears watered have. Then placed they there a tombstone fine, With date of year and name; Unseen in my heart's depths doth shine One marked with words of flame. They wander oft thy grave unto; I sit and weep alone. How fervent was my love, and true, Only to God is known! |