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128
poems.
If solitude should win your love,
When all is calm below, above;
      And ling'ring day
Paints the clear sky with roseate dyes,
The faint air breathes its latest sighs,
      If ere you stray,—

Will you not seek my silent tomb,
Remember how I lost my bloom
      In loving thee?
Yet do not mourn my sad, sad lot;
I only would not be forgot:—
      Oh, think of me!

But if the wish I now express
Shall e'en a moment cause distress,
      Oh, then forget!
For I will just as sweetly sleep,
Though o'er my grave you do not weep,
      Or e'er regret.

Ah, soon,—ah, soon it will be o'er,
And I will weep no more, no more,
      But calmly rest.
This trembling heart will break at last,
With, sad remembrance of the past,
      So long opprest.