The Grave of Youth

When life is hurried to untimely close
In the years of crystal eyes and burnish’d hair,
Dire are the thoughts of death;--eternal parting
From all the precious soul’s yet known delights,
All she had clung to here;--from youth and hope,
And the year’s blossom’d April;--bounding strength,
Which had out-leap’d the roes, when morning suns
Yellowed their forest-glade;--from reaper’s shout
And cheerful swarm of populous towns;--from Time,
Which tells of joys forepast, and promises
The dear return of seasons, and the bliss
Crowning a fruitful marriage;--from the stores
Of well-engrafted knowledge;--from all utterance,
Since, in the silent grave, no talk!--no music!
No gay surprise, by unexpected good,
Social, or individual!--no glad step
Of welcome friend, with more intenseness listen’d
Than warbled melody!--no father’s council!
No mother’s smile!--no lover’s whisper’d vow!--
There nothing breathes save the insatiate worm,
And nothing is but the drear altering corse,
Resolving silently to shapeless dust
In unpierc’d darkness and in blank oblivion.