 | The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics |  |
168
A FLOWER-FOLLY.
I have culled a little flower to-night—
Say where, say where!
“In the garden beds, by the soft moonlight?”
Not there, not there!
It was gathered,—ponder well on this,—
In a sheltered nook, in a bower of bliss;
Now tell me, young man, tender and true,
Do they love the sun, or the silver dew,
These flowers so fair?
Say where, say where!
“In the garden beds, by the soft moonlight?”
Not there, not there!
It was gathered,—ponder well on this,—
In a sheltered nook, in a bower of bliss;
Now tell me, young man, tender and true,
Do they love the sun, or the silver dew,
These flowers so fair?
“Let me see the blossom...pearly and white,
With its leaves half-folded from the light,—
With a stem all downy and moss o'ergrown,
And a perfume..but that is not its own;—
Fair Sir, these blossoms are of the few
That love neither sun nor silver dew;
They love but to nestle in soft repose
For a passing moment, then slowly close,
(Faint with a rapture, too great to bear)
And die..ah! where?
With its leaves half-folded from the light,—
With a stem all downy and moss o'ergrown,
And a perfume..but that is not its own;—
Fair Sir, these blossoms are of the few
That love neither sun nor silver dew;
They love but to nestle in soft repose
For a passing moment, then slowly close,
(Faint with a rapture, too great to bear)
And die..ah! where?
169
Where? merry maiden, that smilest so,
Thou canst read the riddle—that blush doth show
Where the flower was culled; oh! fairest, take
To its rest, the exile, for pity's sake;
Ere its languid leaves for ever close
Let it nestle again in soft repose,
And so shall you make it clear anew,
Why these flowers care so little for sun and dew,
And what is their rapture past compare,
In dying..there.”
Thou canst read the riddle—that blush doth show
Where the flower was culled; oh! fairest, take
To its rest, the exile, for pity's sake;
Ere its languid leaves for ever close
Let it nestle again in soft repose,
And so shall you make it clear anew,
Why these flowers care so little for sun and dew,
And what is their rapture past compare,
In dying..there.”
| The Burden of the Bell and Other Lyrics | |