Classic Poem

O'erladen with sad musings, till the tear
Sprang to the pressure, I survey'd thy tomb,
All drest in flowers, as though above thy bier,
Thy breath, yet hovering, fed the gentle bloom;
I said, ‘Maria, though I deem'd too long
That souls would fade like music on the air,
Hast thou not brought me confirmation strong
That they shall yet be beautiful elsewhere?
For thine was so immaculate and rare,
That but the thought of thy deep purity,
Link'd with that other thought, I could not bear;
Mount then! bright soul! and take thy place on high;
I do confess thou wert so good and fair
That such as thou were never born to die!’