Her tongue was silent, and her lips were still;
She lay on a flowery bed, pale and chill.
Her eyes were closed, by her was a rose;
A girl of whom I could no more boast.
The snow was pelting, in the still of night;
The wind was roaring, whilst her soul took flight.
The thunder rumbling, the lightning sparkling –
Revealing her face placid, unwailing.
I could not leave her, and the night dragged on;
I heard my soul sighing – my love was gone.