Florence Vane

I loved thee long and dearly,
Florence Vane;
My life's bright dream and early
Hath come again;
I renew, in my fond vision,
My heart's dear pain,
My hopes, and thy derision,
Florence Vane.
The ruin, lone and hoary,
The ruin old
Where thou didst hark my story,
At even told, —
That spot — the hues Elysian
Of sky and plain —
I treasure in my vision,
Florence Vane.
Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime;
Thy voice excell'd the closes
Of sweetest rhyme;
Thy heart was as a river
Without a main.
Would I had loved thee never,
Florence Vane!
But, fairest, coldest, wonder!
Thy glorious clay
Lieth the green sod under —
Alas, the day!
And it boots not to remember
Thy disdain —
To quicken love's pale ember,
Florence Vane.
The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep,
The daisies love to dally
Where maidens sleep;
May their bloom, in beauty vying,
Never wane
Where thine earthly part is lying,
Florence Vane!