University of Virginia Library


106

THE HEAVEN-WREATH.

The blooming halos of the garden trees,
All sweetly murmurous with clustering bees,
Fling a rich odor on the air around;
And broad, cool shadows on the grassy ground;
And in their shade a little child at play,
Whileth the hours through all the sunny day.
A placid child, that never strayeth out
Into the sunshine with unruly shout,
But sitteth still, the fragrant boughs beneath,
Striving in vain to weave himself a wreath;
About his feet blue violets are strown,
And golden dandelions and willows thrown.
The children watch him as he sitteth there,
With earnest mien, and sweet, abstracted air;
And while they gaze, they cease their boisterous sport,
And speak of him in sober, childish sort;
And oft they call their mother to behold
His fruitless toil, and flowers of blue and gold.

107

But as the mother looketh on her child,
So young, so fair, and so unearthly mild,
Though she would haply have them seem more bright,
Her eyes grow dimmer for the simple sight;
And her pained heart feels with foreboding love,
Fond Death hath woven him a wreath above.