Thy Home Seemed Not Of Earth - So Blest But There Has Fall'N A Shaft Of Fate The Dove Is Stricken; And The Nest She Warmed And Cheered Is Desolate. But Fairest Not For Thee, We Mourn: Blest From Thy Birth, Thou Still Art So The Tear Must Dew Thine Early Urn For Him Whom Thou Hast Taught To Know The Zest Of Joys - Complete, As Knows Thy Vital Flame, The Pang That Tost And Changed Thee Past, Where Now It Glows Knowing, Yet Feeling All Is Lost. There Is A Flower Of Tender White And, On Its Spotless Bosom, Play The Moon'S Soft Beams, One Lovely Night; But When Appears The Morning Ray 'Tis Shut And Withered - Even Now Around Your Lime I See It Wave; [Fn#27] 'Tis Pure, And Fresh, And Fair, As Thou And Sinks In Beauty To Its Grave. [Fn#27] The White Convolvulus; It Blossoms Just After Sun-Set, And Is Seen In Great Abundance Entwining The Lime-Hedges, About The Plantations Of Cuba.