Thomas Gent (Томас Гент)

Rosa's Grave

Oh! lay me where my Rosa lies,
   And love shall o'er the moss-crown'd bed,
When dew-drops leave the weeping skies,
   His tenderest tear of pity shed.

And sacred shall the willow be,
   That shades the spot where virtue sleeps;
And mournful memory weep to see
   The hallow'd watch affection keeps.

Yes, soul of love! this bleeding heart
   Scarce beating, soon its griefs shall cease;
Soon from his woes the suff'rer part,
   And hail thee at the Throne of Peace! 

1. Henry and Eliza
2. Lines, Written on the Sixth of September
3. To ––––
4. To a Fly, on the Bosom of Chloe, While Sleeping
5. Night

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1761

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