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.