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IMPROMPTU
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


91

IMPROMPTU

ON SOME LILIES THAT WERE CRUSHED AND WITHERED BEFORE EVENING.

I

Flowers of the spring-tide!—sweet lilies,—ye bring
Memories whose shadows around me cling;
Breathings of Eden so vivid, so true,
Oh! hours that were tinged with thy virgin hue.

II

Flowers of the springtide! why ask ye a tear?
Mark ye the sorrows of life's short career?
Must your frail beauty but serve to recall
The darkness which dwells 'neath the funeral pall?

III

Flowers of the springtide!—sweet lilies,—your bloom
Is but as a type of man's early doom;
Lo! in the morning your beams are of light,
How trodden—how withered—ere yet it is night!