Marian

Passing feet pause, as they pass,
By this little slab of slate.
People, if they go this way,
By the linchen'd wicket gate,
At each other look and say,
" Pity, pity ! sad it was ! "
Here have fallen as many tears
As the months in her short years.

Seven and ten brief sunny springs ;
Scarce so many winter snows :
Here the little speedwell keeps
Watch beside the pale dog-rose ;
On this hillock, while she sleeps
Underneath, the red-breast sings.
Wedded on an April day !
In the Autumn laid away !