At the Grave of His Son
The spring has come! The roses wake from sleep.
My long lost rose, why shouldst thou slumber keep?
I'll weep and weep, like to that radiant cloud,
That with the flowers thou mayest lift the shroud.
My long lost rose, why shouldst thou slumber keep?
I'll weep and weep, like to that radiant cloud,
That with the flowers thou mayest lift the shroud.
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