Like some fair flow'r of tender hue,
That sinks, opprest with early dew,
That rises and that fades at morn,
And almost dies as soon as born:
Scarce granted to the light of day,
Ere snatch'd, forever snatch'd away;
For thee, become but newly dear,
Already parents shed the tear.
Happy, who life with honour spend,
Or meet, like thee, an early end!
Next to a life in virtue spent
Is death of one so innocent.