| Requiescat Strew on her roses, roses, And never sprays 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. - Matthew Arnold |
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