Heaven's glory shone where he was laid
⁠⁠In life's decline!
I turned me from that young saint's bed
⁠⁠To gaze on thine.

It was a summer day that saw
⁠⁠His spirit's flight;
Thine parted in a time of awe,
⁠⁠A winter's night.

Upon her soothing breast
⁠She lulled her little child,
A winter sunset in the west
⁠A heavy glory smiled.
I gazed within thine earnest eyes
⁠And read the sorrow brooding there;
I heard thy young breast torn with sighs,
⁠And envied such despair.

Go to the grave in youth's bare woe!
That dream was written long ago.

December 19, 1839.