Classic Poem

Ah, Lily, when my head lies low,
In yonder quiet woodland dell,—
Where the wild-flowers will sweetly blow,
Above the eyes that loved them well,—
How soon thy sorrow would depart
If word of mine could soothe thy heart!

Somewhere, some day, we meet again!
Think this, and be this thought relief!
In life I have not brought thee pain;
In death I must not bring thee grief.
Strew with the flowers of hope my pall,
And gently mourn, or not at all!