I loved thee long, and dearly;
Florence Vane;
My life’s bright dream and early
Hath come again;
I renew, in my fond vision,
My heart’s dear pain, —
My hopes, and thy derision,
Florence Vane.
The ruin, lone and hoary,
The ruin old
Where thou didst hark my story
At even told—
That spot—the hues elysian—
Of sky and plain—
I treasure in my vision,
Florence Vane.
Thou wast lovelier than the roses
In their prime
Thy voice excelled the closes
Of sweetest rhyme;
Thy heart was as a river
Without a main
Would I had loved thee never
Florence Vane.
But, fairest, coldest wonder!
Thy glorious day
Lieth the green sod under—
Alas, the day!
And it boots not to remember
Thy disdain,
To quicken love’s pale ember,
Florence Vane.
The lilies of the valley
By young graves weep;
And the daisies love to dally
Where maiden’s sleep.
May their bloom in beauty vying
Never wane
Where thine earthly part is lying
Florence Vane!
Philip Pendleton Cooke
Born in Martinsburg Va. 1816
| Biography of Philip Pendleton Cooke
A Formal Description of "Florence Vane"
An Explication of "Florence Vane" |
