Anna at the Tomb of Henry
Sod that wraps my Henry's clay,
O lie lightly on his breast!
And ye winds that bring decay,
Spare the flowers with which 'tis drest.
So that, at the close of eve,
Fairy bands here oft may come,
Come, and their gay circles weave
Round my lover's grassy tomb.
Sportive elves! O here repair!
And I'll join your dance, and crave
Leave to bind your golden hair,
With the pride of Henry's grave.
Who could with my lover vye?
O his eye was brighter far,
Than the Morning's orient eye,
O lie lightly on his breast!
And ye winds that bring decay,
Spare the flowers with which 'tis drest.
So that, at the close of eve,
Fairy bands here oft may come,
Come, and their gay circles weave
Round my lover's grassy tomb.
Sportive elves! O here repair!
And I'll join your dance, and crave
Leave to bind your golden hair,
With the pride of Henry's grave.
Who could with my lover vye?
O his eye was brighter far,
Than the Morning's orient eye,
- Read more about Anna at the Tomb of Henry
- Log in or register to post comments