This Little Vault, This Narrow Room, Of Love And Beauty Is The Tomb; The Dawning Beam, That 'Gan To Clear Our Clouded Sky, Lies Darken'D Here, For Ever Set To Us: By Death Sent To Enflame The World Beneath. 'Twas But A Bud, Yet Did Contain More Sweetness Than Shall Spring Again; A Budding Star, That Might Have Grown Into A Sun When It Had Blown. This Hopeful Beauty Did Create New Life In Love'S Declining State; But Now His Empire Ends, And We From Fire And Wounding Darts Are Free; His Brand, His Bow, Let No Man Fear: The Flames, The Arrows, All Lie Here.