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They'll take thee away from these arms, love,
And bury thy blossoming charms, love,
Where midnight requiems swell.
At the high altar I see thee kneel,
With pallid and awe-struck face;
I see the veil those looks conceal
That shone with surpassing grace—
The shade will prey on thy bloom, my love,
While I shall wend to the tomb, my love,
And leave of my name no trace.
We lov'd and we grew, we grew and we lov'd,
Twin flowers in a dewy vale;
The churchman's cold hand hath one remov'd,
The other will soon wax pale;
O fast will be its decline, my love,
As this dying note of mine, my love,
Lost in the evening gale!
