O her motion was charming, her figure enchanting,
I recall these too clearly with the thought she is dead,
And her eyes they were wondrous, her lips they were red
As a rose freshly cut in the warm day-wind panting;
And the shape of her body of grace was not wanting
When swiftly through alleys of flowers she fled,
When, returning, the way she light-footedly tread.
Coming laden with flowers, her cold words recanting.
O form that has vanished, all graces combining,
Your departure has opened a space none can fill,
I must live on throughout for your image repining,
For the smile in your face that smile never will.
I must carry my burden in memory reclining,
Despairing of one buried under the hill.
