Classic Poem

She died—as die the roses
On the ruddy clouds of dawn,
When the envious sun discloses
His flame, and morning's gone.

She died—like snow glad-gracing
Some sea-marge fair, when, lo!
Rude waves, each other chasing,
Quick hide it 'neath their flow.

She died—like snow fair showering
Some sea-marge, when, anon,
In comes the wave devouring—
The beautiful is gone.

She died—as dies the glory
Of music's sweetest swell:
She died—as dies the story
When the best is still to tell!

She died—as dies moon-beaming
When scowls the rayless wave;
She died—like sweetest dreaming
That hastens to its grave.

She died—and died she early;
Heaven wearied for its own.
As the dipping sun, my Mary,
Thy morning ray went down!