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
cabin'd,
ample
spirit,
It
flutter'd
and
fail'd
for
breath.
To-night
it
doth
inherit
The
vasty
hall
of
death.