Epitaph in old mode

The leaves fall gently on the grass,

And all the willow trees, and poplar trees, and elder trees,

That bend above her where she sleeps,

O all the willow trees, the willow trees

Breathe sighs upon her tomb.

O pause and pity, as you pass,

She loved so tenderly, so quietly, so hopelessly;

And sometimes comes one here and weeps:

She loved so tenderly, so tenderly,

And never told them whom.