Tread lightly, she is near 
Under the snow, 
Speak gently, she can hear 
The daisies grow. 

All her bright golden hair 
Tarnished [bad word]  
She that was young and fair 
Fallen to dust. 

Lily-like, white as snow, 
She hardly knew 
She was a woman, so 
Sweetly she grew. 

Coffin-board, heavy stone, 
Lie on her breast, 
I vex my heart alone, 
She is at rest. 

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear 
Lyre or sonnet, 
All my life's buried here, 
Heap earth upon it.

Oscar Wilde