Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom, <br />On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; <br /> But on thy turf shall roses rear <br /> Their leaves, the earliest of the year; <br />And the wild cypress wave in tender <br /> gloom: <br /> <br />And oft by yon blue gushing stream <br /> Shall sorrow lean her drooping head, <br />And feed deep thought with many a dream, <br /> And lingering pause and lightly tread; <br /> Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the <br /> dead! <br /> <br />Away! we know that tears are vain, <br /> That death nor heeds nor hears distress: <br />Will this unteach us to complain? <br /> Or make one mourner weep the less? <br />And thou - who tell'st me to forget, <br />Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/oh-snatched-away-in-beauty-s-bloom/
