Margaret, are you grievin'
Ova Golden grove un-leavin'? 
Leaves, like the things of man, you 
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? 
Ah! as the heart grows older 
It will come to such sights colder 
By & by, nor spare a sigh 
Though worlds of wan wood leaf meal lie
& yet you will weep & know why
Now no matter, child, the name
Sorrow's springs are the same 
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed 
What heart heard of, ghost guessed
It is the blight man was born for
It is Margaret ya mourn for