I saw thine headstone, shed my tears,
alas, you’ll not return.
Though flowers grow, reminding me,
you’ll not want me to mourn.
Yet still methinks on memories,
the bay in which we dove.
Now I stand here while you have passed
beyond yon Bowergrove.
The winter snow, a dash of wind,
I wilder at the sight.
Though fires burn, engulfing me,
you’ll not save me this night.
Yet still extinguished are thine flames,
our hearts apart time clove.
Now I stand here as you have gone
beyond yon Bowergrove.
I ventured twice to each of five,
abundant was my pain.
Though quaintness dwells to comfort me
you’ll cry with me as rain.
Yet still disheartened are mine eyes
when o’er the graves they rove.
Now I stand here and you watch from
beyond yon Bowergrove.
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