104 Where I have lost, I softer tread— I sow sweet flower from garden bed— I pause above that vanished head And mourn. Whom I have lost, I pious guard From accent harsh, or ruthless word— Feeling as if their pillow heard, Though stone! When I have lost, you`ll know by this— A Bonnet black—A dusk surplice— A little tremor in my voice Like this! Why, I have lost, the people know Who dressed in flocks of purest snow Went home a century ago Next Bliss!SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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