Poetry Archives

Dearest love! when thy God shall recall thee,
  Be this record inscribed on thy tomb:
Truth, and gratitude, well may applaud thee,
  And all thy past virtues relume.

It shall tell—to thy sex’s proud honour,
  Of sufferings and trials severe,
While still, through protracted affliction,
  Not a murmur escaped; but the tear

Of resignment to Heaven’s high dictates,
  ’Twas thine, like a martyr, to shed:
That heart—all affection for others—
  For thyself, uncomplainingly, bled.

Midst the storms, which misfortune had gather’d,
  What an angel thou wert unto me;
In that hour, when all friendship seem’d sever’d,
  Thou didst bloom like the ever-green tree!

All was gloom; and in vain had I striven,
  For hope ceased a ray to impart;
When thou cam’st, like a meteor from heaven,
  And gave peace to my desolate heart!