By yon still river, where the wave <br />Is winding slow at evening's close, <br />The beech, upon a nameless grave, <br />Its sadly-moving shadow throws. <br /> <br />O'er the fair woods the sun looks down <br />Upon the many-twinkling leaves, <br />And twilight's mellow shades are brown, <br />Where darkly the green turf upheaves. <br /> <br />The river glides in silence there, <br />And hardly waves the sapling tree: <br />Sweet flowers are springing, and the air <br />Is full of balm,-- but where is she! <br /> <br />They bade her wed a son of pride, <br />And leave the hope she cherished long: <br />She loved but one,-- and would not hide <br />A love which knew no wrong. <br /> <br />And months went sadly on,-- and years:-- <br />And she was wasting day by day: <br />At length she died, -- and many tears <br />Were shed, that she should pass away. <br /> <br />Then came a gray old man, and knelt <br />With bitter weeping by her tomb:-- <br />And others mourned for him, who felt <br />That he had sealed a daughter's doom. <br /> <br />The funeral train has long past on, <br />And time wiped dry the father's tear! <br />Farewell -- lost maiden! -- there is one <br />That mourns thee yet -- and he is here.<br /><br />Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dirge-over-a-nameless-grave/
