With the lily's purest bloom.
But ah! that rose of Paradise,
Her lip, so full and red,
Grows pale in the evening light and dies,
And a pearly whiteness shed
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Over her face seems like a pall.
And how the angels' chime
Comes through the air with a rippling fall
From heaven, soft and sublime.
And now they bear my love away
Up heaven's eternal stair;
And leave me to dream my life away,
To sleep - and find her there.
B. W. W.