Early, but not too early for thy fame,
The seal of silence on thy lips is laid,
While we, aghast, disheartened, and dismayed,
Crush back our tears and softly speak thy name.
To us it has one meaning and the same —
A brave and gentle soul, a noble mind,
Pure, constant, generous, modest and refined,
With simple duty for its only aim.
Dear are the days that thou hast left behind,
By sweet words hallowed, and by kindly deeds;
And thus the heart of sorrow moans and bleeds,
And ever bleeds, and will not be resigned —
Knowing its hopeless hope is all in vain,
To see they face or hear thy voice again.