Rosa's Grave.

A poem by Thomas Gent

It is a mournful pleasure to remember the exquisite taste and delight she evinced in the arrangement of a Bouquet; and how often she wished that, hereafter, she might appear to me as a beautiful flower!


Oh! lay me where my Rosa lies,
And love shall o'er the moss-grown bed,
When dew-drops leave the weeping skies.
His tenderest tear of pity shed.

And sacred shall the willow be,
That shades the spot where virtue sleeps;
And mournful memory weep to see
The hallow'd watch affection keeps.

Yes, soul of love! this bleeding heart
Scarce beating, soon its griefs shall cease;
Soon from his woes the sufferer part,
And hail thee at the Throne of Peace

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Rosa's Grave.' by Thomas Gent

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy