Classic Poem

One short, one little year ago,
I saw thee trip the dance along;
On thy young cheek health's happy glow,
The gayest of the youthful throng.

Where art thou now? — That cheek is pale,
Quench'd is the radiance of thine eye;
And many a voice will still bewail,
Alas! for Lady Emily.

Unknown to thee the world's wild strife,
Thou smil'd away thy happy hour;
And wither'd in thy bloom of life,
A cherish'd, but a fading flow'r.

Sweet girl, be blest — gone to a home,
Where there is neither tear nor sigh;
Yet still I murmur on thy tomb,
Alas! for Lady Emily.

One short, one little year ago,
I saw thee trip the dance along;
On thy young cheek health's happy glow,
The gayest of the youthful throng.

Where art thou now? — That cheek is pale,
Quench'd is the radiance of thine eye;
And many a voice will still bewail,
Alas! for Lady Emily.

Unknown to thee the world's wild strife,
Thou smil'd away thy happy hour;
And wither'd in thy bloom of life,
A cherish'd, but a fading flow'r.

Sweet girl, be blest — gone to a home,
Where there is neither tear nor sigh;
Yet still I murmur on thy tomb,
Alas! for Lady Emily.