Classic Poem

Yes, holy be thy resting place
Wherever thou may'st lie;
The sweetest winds breathe on thy face,
The softest of the sky.

And will not guardian Angels send
Kind dreams and thoughts of love,
Though I no more may watchful bend
Thy longed repose above?*

And will not heaven itself bestow
A beam of glory there
That summer's grass more green may grow,
And summer's flowers more fair?

Farewell, farewell, 'tis hard to part
Yet, loved one, it must be:
I would not rend another heart
Not even by blessing thee.

Go! we must break affection's chain,
Forget the hopes of years:
Nay, grieve not — willest thou remain*
To waken wilder tears?

This wild1 breeze with thee and me*
Roved in the dawning day;*
And thou shouldest be where it shall be*
Ere evening, far away.1 Or " herald. "