To A Maiden Who Died

O little life, quenched by the blow of death Amidst the tender dreams of rosy dawn, I cannot lift thee into deathlessness Upon the chiseled glitter of the marble!

I am a humble bard; and thou, a music Silenced, whose strains my memory cannot Recall. Yet with a deeper bond my soul Thou bindest, O breath unpainted and unsung.

Like a far dawn, thou smiledst in my mind, A dawn most sweet and shy and fleeting. Then One day, over my child's pure head thou bentest With face abloom with smiles and fond caresses.

And something amber-like remained in me From thee, though thou didst pass; and in the evening Which in me rises slowly, the dream fairy Of the azure tales looks with thy face on me.