Epitaph on a Child in the Cemetery at Montauban
A little spirit slumbers here,
Who to one heart was very dear!
Oh it was more than life or light,
Its thought by day, its dream by night.
The cold wind blew, my fair flow'r faded,
And died — the grave its sweetness shaded.
Fair boy, thou should'st have wept for me!
But long my sorrowing will not be.
These roses which I've planted round
To grace this dear, sad, sacred ground —
When Spring-gales next these roses wave,
They'll blush upon thy mother's grave!
Who to one heart was very dear!
Oh it was more than life or light,
Its thought by day, its dream by night.
The cold wind blew, my fair flow'r faded,
And died — the grave its sweetness shaded.
Fair boy, thou should'st have wept for me!
But long my sorrowing will not be.
These roses which I've planted round
To grace this dear, sad, sacred ground —
When Spring-gales next these roses wave,
They'll blush upon thy mother's grave!
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