LIKE a poor ghost the night I seek; <br />ts hollow winds repeat my sighs; <br />The cold dews mingle on my cheek <br />With tears that wander from mine eyes. <br /> <br />The thorns that still my couch molest, <br />Have robb'd these heavy eyes of sleep; <br />But though deprived of tranquil rest, <br />I here at last am free to weep. <br /> <br />Twelve times the moon, that rises red <br />O'er yon tall wood of shadowy pine, <br />Has fill'd her orb, since low was laid <br />My Harriet! that sweet form of thine! <br /> <br />While each sad month, as slow it pass'd, <br />Brought some new sorrow to deplore; <br />Some grief more poignant than the last, <br />But thou canst calm those griefs no more. <br /> <br />No more thy friendship soothes to rest <br />This wearied spirit tempest-toss'd; <br />The cares that weigh upon my breast <br />Are doubly felt since thou art lost. <br /> <br />Bright visions of ideal grace <br />That the young poet's dreams inflame, <br />Were not more lovely than thy face; <br />Were not more perfect than thy frame. <br /> <br />Wit, that no sufferings could impair, <br />Was thine, and thine those mental powers <br />Of force to chase the fiends that tear <br />From Fancy's hands her budding flowers. <br /> <br />O'er what, my angel friend, thou wert, <br />Dejected Memory loves to mourn; <br />Regretting still that tender heart, <br />Now withering in a distant urn. <br /> <br />But ere that wood of shadowy pine <br />Twelve times shall yon full orb behold, <br />This sickening heart, that bleeds for thine, <br />My Harriet!—may like thine be cold!<br /><br />Charlotte Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/verses-on-the-death-of-the-same-lady/
