I DUG, beneath the cypress shade, 
   What well might seem an elfin's grave; 
And every pledge in earth I laid, 
   That erst thy false affection gave. 

I press'd them down the sod beneath; 
   I placed one mossy stone above; 
And twined the rose's fading wreath 
   Around the sepulchre of love. 

Frail as thy love, the flowers were dead 
   Ere yet the evening sun was set: 
But years shall see the cypress spread, 
   Immutable as my regret.