She seemed a vision with angelic face Come floating by on white feet of dream, Now of her beauty lingers not a trace Nor soul who could my errant soul redeem.
In silent hours when only her laboured breath Departing this frail envelope so young Was heard and the slow stealthy tread of death, With wonders yet unseen and songs unsung,
Aware that she must leave the form behind Upon this troubled, fated head did pour Her love and in my broken heart enshrined The image of the One I must adore
My tears weighed down her wings of angel-flight And now I seek in solitude the light.
Poems Undated (1727)
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