He's dead and gone! He's dead and gone! And the lime-tree branches wave, And the daisy blows, And the green grass grows, Upon his grave.

He's dead and gone! He's dead and gone! And he sleeps by the flowering lime, Where he loved to lie When the sun was high, In summer time.

We've laid him there, for I could not bear His poor old bones to hide In some dark hole, Where rat and mole

And blind-worms bide.

We 've laid him there, where the blessed air Disports with the lovely light, And raineth showers Of those sweet flowers So silver white :

Where the blackbird sings, and the wild bee's Make music all day long,

And the cricket at night (A dusky sprite)

Takes up the song.

He loved to lie, where his wakeful eye Could keep me still in sight, Whence a word, or a sign, Or a look of mine,

Brought him like light.

Nor word, nor sign, nor look of mine, From under the lime-tree bough, With bark and bound And frolic round,

Shall bring him now.

But he taketh his rest, where he loved best In the days of his life to be, And that place will not Be a common spot Of earth to me.

Caroline Southey.