Weep, if you have a tear to spare,
For her who once like you was fair;
Who led like you the dance and song,
And tripped bright fashion's paths along—
Who in maturer years looked round
With circumspective eye — that found
Beneath the circuit of the sun
Nought it could safely rest upon.

That eye looked upward, far away,
And gazed upon another day.
Closed its pure lid on all below—
Sin, folly, vanity, and woe:
On Death's black wing her willing flight
Rose into uncreated light.