Patrick Regan has kindly shared the material from his George Heath site with readers of the Victorian Web, who may wish to consult the original.

When the herds were picking the dead ash leaves
          Under the trees,
When winds were bringing a trouble of death
          On many seas,
                              She died, alas!

She in whose life I had lived and moved
          So long, so long!
Who had made all my days like the ravishing change
          Of a passionate song;
                              She died, alas!

She, who was ever a delicate bud,
          Wee, weak, and frail;
For whom I so anxiously watched and met
          Chill, damp, and gale;
                              She died, alas!

She, who was blythe as a bird one day,
          The next without strength;
Whom I dreamed, could she tide o'er a few more years,
          Might grow strong at length;
                              She died, alas!

She died, and the light of my life and hope
          Went out, went out!
And my heart sobs now, as the shuddering leaves
          Drift dead about;
                              She died, alas!

Last modified 3 September 2002