| |
| I WOULD 1 that thou wert dead, devoted one, | |
| For thou art all too pure to linger here; | |
| Life’s joyous sands to thee have fleetly run, | |
| And sorrow’s hand hath made thy being sere— | |
| Thy girlhood was a pure and artless dream, | 5 |
| And many a sunny hope has thrill’d thy breast, | |
| And many an air-blown bubble gilt life’s stream, | |
| Flash’d for a moment—broke, and sunk to rest— | |
| Emblems of youth and loveliness were they, | |
| And like hope’s fairy visions pass’d away. | 10 |
| |
| I would that thou wert dead, forsaken girl, | |
| That high pale brow enshrined within the tomb, | |
| For as with gentle winds still waters curl, | |
| So fades at sorrow’s touch young beauty’s bloom— | |
| Thou art too pure and fair for this cold earth, | 15 |
| A thing too guiltless long to dwell below, | |
| Thy voice has lost its cadences of mirth, | |
| The glory has departed from thy brow— | |
| And youth’s pure bloom has left thy virgin heart, | |
| And beauty like a phantom will depart. | 20 |
| |
| I would that thou wert dead, for life to thee | |
| Is as a broken reed—a wither’d flower; | |
| Dark shadows rest upon thy destiny, | |
| And storms of fate around thy fortunes lower— | |
| Wedded to one thy bosom cannot love, | 25 |
| Banish’d from him thine every thought employs, | |
| Thou art in heart a bruised and wounded dove, | |
| And earth to thee can yield no future joys, | |
| Wearily passes life and time with thee, | |
| A dusky shadow dims thy destiny. | 30 |
| |
| I would that thou wert dead, devoted one, | |
| And thy bright spirit disenthrall’d of clay; | |
| Even as the dew-drop wastes beneath the sun, | |
| Thus by disease thy being wastes away— | |
| Oh, who that knew thee when thou wert a child, | 35 |
| With a glad voice and heaven unfolding eye, | |
| A creature as the snow flake undefiled, | |
| With a bright lip and cheek of rosy dye, | |
| Oh, who that knew thee then, can see thee now, | |
| Nor wonder for the beauty of thy brow. | 40 |
| |
| I would that thou wert dead, and sanctified— | |
| Thy spirit with high element is fraught, | |
| And that which scorn and cruelty defied, | |
| The lingering stealth of pale disease has wrought— | |
| Yes, death is near thee now, sweet Genevieve, | 45 |
| And thou shalt haste to meet him with a smile; | |
| It is in vain thy gentle sisters grieve, | |
| Thy soul shall soon flee by each starry isle, | |
| That glitters brightly through the calm blue skies, | |
| Like white lids lifted from pure spirit’s eyes. | 50 |
| |
| Thou soon shalt die, sweet martyr, and the earth | |
| Will nurture gentle flowers above thy grave, | |
| Sweet emblems of thy being and thy birth, | |
| With cypress leaves around thy tomb shall wave— | |
| And when the pensive stranger wanders nigh, | 55 |
| His lips shall waft a tributary prayer, | |
| For her who soon shall prematurely die, | |
| For her whose seraph form shall moulder there— | |
| Farewell, sweet Genevieve—’t is sad to part— | |
| Farewell, thy beauty shrouds a breaking heart. | 60 |
