The Youthful Dead

Oh, do thou quickly through the grasses move
Beneath which lie my ashes in despair,
Nor the flowers trample of my grave from where
I list to ant and ivy creep above.

Thou stop'st? Thou heard'st the coo of mourning dove.
Oh, on my tomb her sacrifice forbear;
If thou lov'st me, give her the ambient air;
Life is so sweet, still let her taste thereof.

Thou know'st? With myrtle wreathed for me a bride,
At nuptial shrine, virgin and spouse, I died—
From all I loved so far, and yet so near.

My eyes respond not to the happy light,
And now forevermore I'm wrapped in drear,
Remorseless Erebus and gloomy Night.