I stood beside the grave of him,
Whose heart with mine had fondly beat,
While memories, from their chambers dim,
Throng’d mournful, yet how sadly sweet!
It was a calm September eve,
The stars stole trembling into sight,
Save where the day, as loth to leave,
Still flush’d the heavens with rosy light.
The crickets in the grass were heard,
The city’s murmur softly fell.
And scaree the dewy air was stirr’d,
As faintly toll’d the evening-bell.
O Death! had then thy summons come,
To bid me from this world away,—
How gladly had I hail’d the doom
That stretch’d me by his mouldering clay!
And twilight deepen’d into night,
And night itself grew wild and drear,—
For clouds rose darkly on the sight,
And winds sigh’d mournful on the ear:—
And yet I linger’d mid the fern,
Though gleam’d no star the eye to bless—
For, O, ’twas agony to turn
And leave him to his loneliness!