Poem by Thomas Love Peacock

Margaret Love Peacock

Long night succeeds thy little day;
Oh blighted blossom! can it be,
That this grey stone, and grassy clay,
Have clos'd our anxious care of thee?

The half-form'd speech of artless thought
That spoke a mind beyond thy years;
The song, the dance, by nature taught;
The sunny smiles, the transient tears;

The symmetry of face and form,
The eye with light and life replete;
The little heart so fondly warm,
The voice so musically sweet;

These, lost to hope, in memory yet
Around the hearts that lov'd thee cling,
Shadowing, with long and vain regret,
The too fair promise of thy spring. 

1. Instead of Sitting Wrapped up in Flannel
2. A Bill for the Better Promotion of Oppression on the Sabbath Day
3. The Round Table or, King Arthur's Feast
4. Duet
5. Lines on the Death of Julia

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