Dark As The Silent Stream Beneath The Night, Thy Funeral Glides To Life'S Eternal Home, Child Of Its Narrow House! - How Late The Bloom, The Facile Smile, The Soft Eye'S Crystal Light, Each Grace Of Youth'S Gay Morn, That Charms Our Sight, Play'D O'Er That Form! - Now Sunk In Death'S Cold Gloom, Insensate! Ghastly! - For The Yawning Tomb, Alas! Fit Inmate. - Thus We Mourn The Blight Of Virgin-Beauty, And Endowments Rare In Their Glad Hours Of Promise. - O! When Age Drops, Like The O'Er-Blown, Faded Rose, Tho' Dear Its Long Known Worth, No Stormy Sorrows Rage; But Swell When We Behold, Unsoil'D By Time, Youth'S Broken Lily Perished In Its Prime.