A Lament
I have thrown down my lute in a passion of sorrow1
The song I invoke lieth dumb on the string2
The sweetest of chords that my music may borrow3
Will never awaken the echoes of spring4
She lived in a garden where flowers were upraising5
Their glorious heads to the kiss of the breeze6
And she in her beauty, majestic ; amazing7
Far fairer than these8
She died with the autumn when mists were enshrouding9
The flowers she had loved with a garment of grey10
The sky of the summer was tearfully clouding11
And wept as they bore the frail body away12
She saw not the poppies she marked not the petal13
That fall to the sorrowful ground from the bloom14
And over her form as a veil the white nettle15
To weep on her tomb16