Portrait of a young woman seated with a book on her lap. Her eyes are raised from the book and looking into the distance. Her straw hat dangles below, attached to her wrist with fabric. She is surrounded by plants and flowers. Full-page illustration.


A faultless form was thine, Florine, and scarcely did it seem1
To be of mortal birth, but more the beauty of a dream ;2
A sadness dwelt around thee, breathing forth in ev’ry tone,3
And when we mourn’d thy loss, we felt Heav’n had but claim’d
its own.
I see thee as I saw thee last, thy lute neglected lay,5
And from thy drooping head the wreath unbound had fall’n
away ;
And e’en as they were thrown aside, as things of little worth,7
So hadst thou banish’d ev’ry thought which spoke to thee of
No more from those sweet lips shall now the voice of song be
For silent are the tones which breath’d music in ev’ry word ;10
And lovely as of old they were, the wreaths of spring may be,11
But the flowers of another year will bloom in vain for thee.12
Oh! desolate is now the home thy beauty made so fair,13
And cheerless is the lonely heart which mourns thine absence
there ;
Yet though unknown its sorrows be, its sufferings unseen,15
The hope, the light of life, are gone,—they died with thee,
Florine !