Late it is to look so proud,
Daisy queen! come is the gloom
Of the winter-burdened cloud!–
‘But, in winter, most I bloom!’
Star of even! sunk the sun!
Lost for e’er the ruddy line;
And the earth is veiled in dun,–
‘Nay, in darkness, best I shine!’
O, my soul! art ‘bove alarm,
Quaffing thus the cup of gall–
Canst thou face the grave with calm?–
‘Yes, the Christians smile at all.’
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