But beauty vanishes; beauty passes; However rare-rare it be; And when I crumble, who will remember This lady of the West Country?

Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful lady That ever was in the West Country.

Look thy last on all things lovely, Every hour-let no night Seal thy sense in deathly slumber Till to delight Thou hast paid thy utmost blessing.

A harvest mouse goes scampering by, With silver claws and silver eye; And moveless fish in the water gleam, By silver reeds in a silver stream.