Lines.-when This Heart Is Cold And Still
When this heart is cold and still,
And can throb for thee no more;
When it wakes not to the thrill
Of the harp's wild chord;
Nor can e'en afford
A sigh to the days of yore;
Then come to my silent tomb,
Which the breeze will murmur over:
Where reigns the deepest gloom-
Where the bat flits by
And the ravens cry-
Thou shalt the spot discover.
Louisa Stuart Costello
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