 | The Cup of Quietness |  |
32
POTPOURRI
As roses, dreaming after death,
Embalmed within some curious urn,
Bewitch the air with subtle breath,
Till garden-visions haunt the brain,
The golden hours of love return,
And bygone summers glow again;
Embalmed within some curious urn,
Bewitch the air with subtle breath,
Till garden-visions haunt the brain,
The golden hours of love return,
And bygone summers glow again;
So when those rarer blossoms fade,
That sun their glories on thy cheek,
Their rich remembrance, beauteous maid,
Enshrined within the fragrant heart
Of some old-fashioned song, may speak
To souls unborn how sweet thou wert.
That sun their glories on thy cheek,
Their rich remembrance, beauteous maid,
Enshrined within the fragrant heart
Of some old-fashioned song, may speak
To souls unborn how sweet thou wert.
| The Cup of Quietness | |