by Hartley Coleridge
She passed away like morning dew
Before the sun was high;
So brief her time, she scarcely knew
The meaning of a sigh.
As round the rose its soft perfume,
Sweet love around her floated;
Admired she grew – while mortal doom
Crept on, un-feared, un-noted.
Love was her guardian angel here,
But love to death resigned her;
Though love was kind, why should we fear
But holy death is kinder?