I saw thy form in youthful prime,
No thought that pale decay,
Could steal before the steps of time,
And wash its bloom away.
Yet still thy features wore that light.
Which fleets not with the breath,
And life never looked more farely bright,
Than in thy smiles of death.
As streams that run over golden mines,
With modest mur mur glide.
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines,
With in there gentle tide.
So fall beneath a simple guise,
Thy radiant genious shone,
And that which charmed all other eyes,
Seemed worthless in thy own.
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.
Though many a gilted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see.
To live with them is farless sweet,
Than to remember thee.