Sickly turn thy shining white,
Bend thy stalk, and never rise.

Shed thy leaves, thou lovely rose,
Shed thy leaves, so sweet and gay;
Spread them wide on the cold earth,
Quickly let them fade away.

Fragrant woodbine, all untwine,
All untwine from yonder bower;
Drag thy branches on the ground,
Stain with dust each tender flower,

For, woe is me! the gentle knot
That did in willing durance bind
My happy soul to hers for life
By cruel death is now untwined.

Her head, with dim, half-closed eyes,
Is bowed upon her breast of snow;
And cold and faded are those cheeks
That wont with cheerful red to glow.

Mute, mute, is that harmonious voice
That wont to breathe the sounds of love,
And lifeless are those beauteous limbs
That with such ease and grace did move.

And I, of all my bliss bereft.
Lonely and sad must ever moan,