I know how vain it is to mourn
O'er blighted hopes, and friendship fled;
How yet more vain it is, to turn
With sorrow to the slumb'ring dead.
Oh! they sleep well!-for o'er their rest
No dark, and life-like mock'ries come
To cloud the brain, and wring the breast,
Which in the grave hath found a home !
Eliza Acton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-know-how-vain-it-is-to-mourn/
