Verse > William Wordsworth > Complete Poetical Works
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EPITAPHS

VII

          O FLOWER of all that springs from gentle blood,
          And all that generous nurture breeds to make
          Youth amiable; O friend so true of soul
          To fair Aglaia; by what envy moved,
          Lelius! has death cut short thy brilliant day
          In its sweet opening? and what dire mishap
          Has from Savona torn her best delight?
          For thee she mourns, nor e'er will cease to mourn;
          And, should the out-pourings of her eyes suffice not
          For her heart's grief, she will entreat Sebeto              10
          Not to withhold his bounteous aid, Sebeto
          Who saw thee, on his margin, yield to death,
          In the chaste arms of thy beloved Love!
          What profit riches? what does youth avail?
          Dust are our hopes;--I, weeping bitterly,
          Penned these sad lines, nor can forbear to pray
          That every gentle Spirit hither led
          May read them, not without some bitter tears.


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