 | Later Lays and Lyrics |  |
FLORAL GIFTS.
I.
Thanks, lady! for these beauteous flowersBright with the diamonds of the showers:
The deep, clear blue of summer skies
Mingles its tints with other dyes:
The first, faint blush of waking day
Gives to the pink its rich array,
And honey-suckle cups unfold
Inlaid with sunset's richest gold.
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II.
But why the storied poppy bringTo crown this floral offering?
Old poets in the lap of Dis
Have flung a strange weird flower like this;
Called it the Rose of Proserpine
Filled with a dread, Plutonian wine:
Its scent disposes one to rest
On the green turf, our mother's breast.
III.
Of all that grace the bright bouquetThe poppy I will choose to-day;
No flower, that memory wakes, for me!
While my heart pulses like a sea
On which lorn wrecks are drifting past,
No ground for Hope to anchor fast:
The wondrous plant from which distils
Forgetfulness can cure all ills.
IV.
I would forget that friends grow cold,That Beauty groweth dim and old;
I would forget that woman's faith
Is frail, and never kept till death;
That one long loved hath proven false,
A butterfly to flirt and waltz;
Inconstant as the treacherous sand
When wooing billows kiss the strand.
V.
Then, lady! thanks in this dark hour,For hushed oblivion's chosen flower;
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Sharp agonies I ill endure;
Better than joy's blue myrtle crown,
Better than laurel of renown
When one is tired of life and light
Is the dark poppy, born of night;
God's words are on each leaf imprest
“He giveth his beloved rest.”
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