LOVER.
"Tell me not that she is dead,
Motionless and cold;
Her form was made for summer flowers,
And not of common mould."
MESSENGER.
"But summer flowers decay and fall
Beneath the autumn wind;
Sorrow's breath will kill like age--
It kill'd thy Rosalind."
LOVER.
"What! those eyes of love and light,
Are they closed for aye?
They were as stars, that o'er the night
Shed a welcome ray."
MESSENGER.
"Brightest stars must fade and fall;
Her eyes are sightless now;
Covered by the funeral pall
Is her pallid brow."
LOVER.
"Lips that I have press'd to mine
In the true love kiss,
Have they ceased to whisper low
Thoughts of former bliss?"
MESSENGER.
"They will never turn away
From a stranger's kiss;
They have ceased to whisper low
Thoughts of former bliss."
LOVER.
"No! that heart so kind and true,
Still it beats for me;
Rosalind, thou lov'st me still--
Can Death my rival be?"
MESSENGER.
"Go, and lay thy hand, poor youth,
On thy loved one's breast;
All is still and silent there,
In the death-bed rest."
LOVER.
"Ah! thou little know'st my love;
She was faithful ever;
And her soul is mine in heaven--
'Twill forget me never.
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