Classic Poem

Strew boughs — strew flowers,
Through all the hours,
On yon low tomb!
Unblown, yet faded,
Unloved, unknown,
Here Beauty sleepeth beneath a stone;
Once how fair, but now degraded!
Hither she came, alone — alone,
From the South Sea bowers,
Where summer dowers
The world with bloom:
Mingle with music the strange perfume!

Let the tears of the Hours
Now fall like rain,
And freshen the flowers,
Again, again!
The sweetness they borrow
Shall ne'er be vain,
While human sorrow
Is falling in showers,
That yield no comfort to human pain!