Florence Vane [1]

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 hope, 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 excelled 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 pansies love to dally Where maidens sleep; May their bloom, in beauty vying, Never wane, Where thine earthly part is lying, Florence Vane!

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