|
Bring flowers to crown the cup and lute, Bring flowers, the bride is near; Bring flowers to soothe the captive's cell, Bring flowers to strew the bier! Bring flowers! -- thus said the lovely song; And shall they not be brought To her who linked the offering With feeling and with thought?[. . . ] How many loved and honoured thee Who only knew thy name; Which o'er the weary working world Like starry music came! With what still hours of calm delight Thy songs and image blend; I cannot chose but think thou wert An old familiar friend. The charm that dwelt in songs of thine My inmost spirit moved; And yet I feel as thou hast been Not half enough beloved . They say that thou wert faint and worn With suffering and care; What music must have filled the soul That had so much to spare! Oh weary one! since thou art laid Within thy mother's breast-- The green, the quiet mother earth-- Thrice blest be thy rest! Thy heart is left within our hearts Although life's pang is o'er; But the quick tears are in my eyes; And I can write no more. |