IT was a still autumnal day—
So sadly still and strangely bright—
The hectic glow of quick decay
Tinged everything with lovely light.
It warmly touched the fragrant air
And fields of corn and crumbling vines
Along the golden Yadkin, where
We walked among the whispering pines

Alas, that tender hectic glow
Shone in her gentle, pallid face,
And none save God in heaven could know
My agony to see its trace—
To watch those fatal roses bloom
Upon her cheeks—red, cruel signs—
But all of love, not of the tomb,
We spoke among the whispering pines.

Ah, fatal roses—never yet
Have they deceived. She drooped and died.
We parted and we never met
Again; but often at my side
An angel walks,—her step I know,—
A viewless arm my neck entwines.
O angel love, so years ago
We walked among the whispering pines.