Yes! there was one that loved thee — years that steal
In swift succession from this changing scene,
Cannot efface thine image; and I feel
Thou still art dear as thou hast ever been! —
Full often doth my mournful thought retrace
Each 'trick of thy sweet favor,' thou wast fair —
Beaut'ous the clusters of thy sunny hair:
Health beamed triumphant in thy radiant face,
Joy, ever in thy buoyant step, and air:
Hope, in thine eye's young brightness! — Thou art gone
Gone to the silent grave: — The flowers of Spring,
Of foreign growth, are fading one by one,
Around thy tomb: another May shall bring
Their blossoms back — but neither Summer's sun,
Earth's balmy dews, or any other thing,
Shall thee recall, thy life's brief race is run!