I say, “She was as good as fair,”

   When standing by her mound;

“Such passing sweetness,” I declare,

   “No longer treads the ground.”

I say, “What living Love can catch

   Her bloom and bonhomie,

And what in newer maidens match

   Her olden warmth to me!”

—There stands within yon vestry-nook

   Where bonded lovers sign,

Her name upon a faded book

   With one that is not mine.

To him she breathed the tender vow

   She once had breathed to me,

But yet I say, “O love, even now

   Would I had died for thee!”