Marguerite,-oh Marguerite! br Thy sleep is sound, and still and sweet, br Framed in the pale gold of thy hair, br Thy face is like an angel's fair, br Marguerite,-oh Marguerite! br br Tender curves of cheek and lips- br Sweet eyes hid in long eclipse- br Pale robes flowing to thy feet- br Folded hands that lightly meet,- br Marguerite,-oh Marguerite! br br Sleep'st thou still?-the world awakes,- br Still the echo swells and breaks,- br Over field, and wood, and street br Easter anthems throb and beat,- br Marguerite,-oh Marguerite! br br Christ the Lord is risen again,- br Hear'st thou not the glad refrain,- br Have those gentle lips no breath, br Smiling in the trance of death?- br Marguerite,-oh Marguerite! br br In the grave from whence He rose, br Lay thee to thy long repose,- br Sweet with myrrh and spices,-sweet br With the footprints of His feet,- br Marguerite,-oh Marguerite! br br Where His sacred head hath lain, br Thine may rest, secure from pain.