Shall whom with graceful charm grants but ungraceful time,
Had Salem conjured what tranquil beauty in but mortal gal,
And to such enchantings had deemed neither deed nor crime,
Yearning to which droughty lands shall inevitable rain fall.  
Lasts then, man in fruitful awe by the touch of grace,
Young'd to the centennial, yet angelic sightings 'pon 'tis place.
Now undeniably leaves us all to miss her dear, beautiful eyes...