Pretty face against the snow;
Innocence in morning dew;
Sunlight in warm, gold eyes;
I know that sweet death was you.

Coffin among pine roots,
Gilded of oak wisdom;
A white rose beside a grave,
Throne for your soul's kingdom.

Cheeks are glass cherries;
Lips of Aurora's light.
Time is timeless to frosted beauty
As you sleep away eternal night.

Beneath those slumbering lids
Jewels are satin ire,
The sharpest, natural emerald;
But you cannot hear the lyre.

He sings your poison lament
In night and waning day;
Such beauty never buried,
As was the Seven's way.