Requiescat.

Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew: In quiet she reposes; Ah! would that I did too!

Her mirth the world required; She bathed it in smiles of glee. But her heart was tired, tired, And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning, In mazes of heat and sound; But for peace her soul was yearning, And now peace laps her round.

Her cabined, ample spirit, It fluttered and failed for breath; To-night it doth inherit The vasty hall of death.