Lillita.

Can I forget how, when you stood      'Mid orchards whence spring bloom had fled,     Stars made the orchards seem a-bud,      And weighed the sighing boughs o'erhead      With shining ghosts of blossoms dead!     Or when you bowed, a lily tall,      Above your August lilies slim,     Transparent pale, that by the wall      Like softest moonlight seemed to swim,      Brimmed with faint fragrance to the brim.     And in the cloud that lingered low -      A silent pallor in the West -     There stirred and beat a golden glow      Of some great heart that could not rest,      A heart of gold within its breast.     Your heart, your life was in the wild,      Your joy to hear the whip-poor-will     Lament its love, when wafted mild      The harvest drifted from the hill:     The deep, deep wildwood where had trod      The red deer o'er the fallen hush     Of Fall's torn leaves, when the low tod      Was frosty 'neath each berried bush.     At dusk the whip-will still complains      Above your lolling lilies, where     Their faces white the moonlight stains,      The dreamy stream flows far and fair      Whisp'ring of rest an easeful air ...     O music of the falling rain,      At night unto her painless rest     Sound sweet and sad, then is she fain      To see the wild flowers on her breast     Lift moist, pure faces up again      To breathe to God their fragrance blest.     Thick-pleated beeches long have crossed      Old, mighty arms above her tomb     Where oft I watch at night her ghost      Bow to the wild-flower's full-blown bloom     A mist of curls, where Summer lost      Her tangled sunbeams and perfume.