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Littell's Living Age/Volume 169/Issue 2184/On the Daughter of my Friend

"Il descend ce cercueil! et les roses sans taches"

The bier descends, strewn with the snow-white rose,
     A father's tribute in this tearful hour.
Earth, thou didst bear them: now in thee repose
          Young maiden and young flower!

Ne'er to this world profane let them return,
     Where mourning, anguish, and misfortune lower;
The storm doth crush, the sun doth fade and burn
          Young maiden and young flower!

Thou slumberest, poor Elise! Thy years how few!
     No more thou fearest the day's scorching power:
Their morn hath closed, still fresh with heavenly dew, —
          Young maiden and young flower!