To-morrow, dear departed one!
I'll seek thy lonely grave,
Where the meek primrose opes its buds,
And weeping willows wave.

It was a bright and blushing morn,
My dearest, when you died :-
That summer-day that dawn'd so fair,
I was to be thy bride.

I wove myself a bridal wreath
Of flowers of brightest bloom : -
I wore them not,- for they were laid
To wither on thy tomb.

Were they not emblems of the hopes
That once so sweetly bloom'd
Around my heart? But now they're gone,
With thee they're all entomb'd.

To-morrow evening, then, lost Love !
When the last sun-beam sets,
I'll weave that grave an April wreath
A wreath of violets

I planted there two fair rose trees :
One sunk in quick decay ;
But leaf by leaf, and flower by flower,
The other drops away.

Then I will love that lonely tomb,
And that slow-fading tree-
The emblems of my wither'd hope,
My blighted love and me.