William H. Timrod (1792–1838)

SARAH! throbbed not thy young heart on that day

With innocent triumph, when the youthful throng,

With rites of ancient usage, and sweet song,

Had crowned thee Queen of verdant-mantled May?

And not unmeet thy triumph,—for the voice

Of thy young peers, which singled thee from all,

To circle with the rural coronal,

Spoke merit in the Queen of their free choice!

But still remember, Sarah, thou canst find

No lasting joy in earthly diadems,

Whether of flowers composed, or costly gems:

Those fade, and these oft dazzle but to blind;

And we must look to other worlds than this

For crowns of real and abiding bliss.