Margaret Love Peacock

Long night succeeds thy little day; Oh blighted blossom! can it be, That this grey stone, and grassy clay, Have clos'd our anxious care of thee? The half-form'd speech of artless thought That spoke a mind beyond thy years; The song, the dance, by nature taught; The sunny smiles, the transient tears; The symmetry of face and form, The eye with light and life replete; The little heart so fondly warm, The voice so musically sweet; These, lost to hope, in memory yet Around the hearts that lov'd thee cling, Shadowing, with long and vain regret, The too fair promise of thy spring.