An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester The flowers, whose fragrant breath delights the eye, Are resting here beneath the darkened sky. In every petal, whisper soft and true, The echo of the life she spent for you. The silent trees, they stand like grief anew, And call our hearts to feel a sorrow due.

Yet out of death, blooms nature all around, A testament to life, in hallowed ground.

• John Milton