I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay.
Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste its bloom away Mary!
Yet still thy features wore that light,
Which fleets not with the breath,
And life never looked more purely bright,
Than in thy smile of death Mary!
As streams that run over golden mines,
With modest murmur glide,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines,
With in this their gentle tide Mary!
So, veiled beneath a simple guise,
Thy radiant genius shone,
And that which charmed all other yeyes,
Seemed worthless in thy own Mary!
If souls could always dwell above
Thou never hadest left thy sphere.
Or, could we keep the souls we love,
We never had lost thee here Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see.
To live with them is far less sweet,
Than to remember thee Mary!