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.