by Oscar Wilde
TREAD lightly, she is near | |
| Under the snow, | |
| Speak gently, she can hear | |
The daisies grow.
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| All her bright golden hair |
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| Tarnished with rust, | |
| She that was young and fair | |
Fallen to dust.
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| Lily-like, white as snow, | |
| She hardly knew | |
| She was a woman, so | |
Sweetly she grew.
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| Coffin-board, heavy stone, | |
| Lie on her breast, | |
| I vex my heart alone |
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She is at rest.
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| Peace, Peace, she cannot hear | |
| Lyre or sonnet, | |
| All my life’s buried here, | |
| Heap earth upon it. |
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