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1. | I—TO F. F. C. ON THE PANSY, HER CLASS FLOWER |
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The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | ||
I—TO F. F. C. ON THE PANSY, HER CLASS FLOWER
This is the flower of thought;Take it, thou empress of a land
Of true hearts, from a loyal subject's hand;
And with it naught,
O, naught beneath life's ever-brightening dome
Of sad remembrance! May it bring
Dreams of joy only, and of happy days
Backward and still to come;
125
In dawns of morrows only joyful lays.
Or yet, if thou shouldst go
Not utterly unscathed of mortal woe—
Thy blackest hour be touched by memory's gold,
As is this flower's leaf. Then shalt thou hold
Ever a young heart in thee, ever as now
A look of quenchless youth beneath thy peerless brow.
The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | ||