University of Virginia Library

IN MEMORIAM.

J. E. T.

One by one the summer flowers
Now are dying;
She, the fairest of them all, is
With them lying.
The fresh roses from her cheeks
Now are fled;
That young soul is early numbered
With the dead.
Of the dying summer-flowers
She was fairest,
For in her were sweetly gathered
All the rarest.
Like a lily fair, her soul was,—
Pure and white;
Roses, on her cheeks so dimpled,
Blushed all bright.
And her eyes forget-me-nots were,
Full of feeling,—
Woman's strength and childish freshness,
Both revealing.
All her hopes here, now are scattered
To the earth;
Noiseless are the halls where sounded
Her gay mirth.
And in our hearts, so empty,
Nought is there
Save the shadow of her sweetness,—
Memory fair.
Such was she, our lovely flower,
Faded now;
For her were joy, and summer sunshine.
Wintry snow,
And stern misfortune's nipping blast,
At its first breath,
Struck down the blossom and consigned it
To drear Death.
And the flowers that are now all
Quickly dying,
At the blast of Autumn's keen breath,
Lowly lying,
They will bloom in future spring-times,
Bright as ever,
Budding sweet in field and meadow,
And by river.
So the soul of that fair maid, of
Early doom,
In the Spring of heaven above will
Once more bloom;
Shining brighter than in days here
To her given,—
Beautifying with its fairness
God's own heaven.