She will not smile;
…She will not stir;
I marvel while
…I look on her.
……The lips are chilly
……And will not speak;
…The ghost of a lily
……In either cheek.
Her hair – ah me!
…Her hair – her hair!
How helplessly
…My hands go there!
……But my caresses
……Meet not hers,
…O golden tresses
……That thread my tears!
I kiss the eyes
…On either lid,
Where her love lies
…Forever hid.
……I cease my weeping
……And smile and say:
…I will be sleeping
……Thus, some day!
The Bard on the Hill 