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Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton - The Lost One
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COME to the grave--the silent grave! and dream 
Of a light, happy voice--so full of joy, 
That those who heard her laugh, would laugh again, 
Echoing the mirth of such an innocent spirit; 
And pause in their own converse, to look round, 
Won by the witchery of that gleesome tone. 
Come to the grave--the lone dark grave! and dream 
Of eyes whose brilliancy was of the soul, 
Eyes which, with one bright flash from their dark lids, 
Seemed at a glance to read the thoughts of others; 
Or, with a full entire tenderness, 
The pure expression of all-perfect love, 
(Of woman`s love, which is for you alone, 
While your`s is for yourself)--gave in that look 
The promise of a life of meek affection. 
Come to the grave--the mouldering grave! and dream 
Of a fair form that glided over earth 
One of its happiest creatures:--to her cheek 

The lightest word might bring the blushing blood 
In pure carnation;--down her graceful neck, 
The long rich curls of jet hung carelessly, 
Untortured by the cunning hand of art: 
And on her brow, bright purity and joy, 
Twin sisters, sate,--as on a holy throne. 
Come yet unto the grave--the still, damp grave! 
And dream of a young heart that beat with life, 
And all life`s best affections; of a heart 
Where sorrow never came, nor fear, nor sin-- 
Nor aught save innocence, and perfect love: 
And, having dreamed of such a lovely being-- 
So gay, so bright, so pure, so fond, so meek-- 
Having thus conjured up a form of love 
In thine own pausing and regretful mind;-- 
A vision will be present to thy soul, 
A faint, but faithful portraiture, of one 
Most dearly loved, and now for ever lost!
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