University of Virginia Library

ONE FLOWER.

“Farewell, my flowers,” I said,
The sweet Rose as I passed
Blushed to its core, its last
Warm tear the Lily shed,
The Violet hid its head
Among its leaves, and sighed.
“Oh thou, my flower, my pride,
Sweet Summer's sweetest bride,
The rest are fair, but dear
Art thou, hast thou no tear,
What givest thou?” “The whole,”
The glowing Pink replied,
“Blush, tear, and smile, and sigh I gave
In giving thee my soul.”
“The summer, wandering by,
Hath breathed in thee her sigh,
Hath wooed thee from the South,
With kisses of her mouth;
Hath wooed thee from the West,
Hath blest thee with the best
Warm blessings of the sun;
And yet a heavy dower
Is thine, my joy, my flower,
Thy soul hath burst its sheath,
Oh, is it love or death,
Sweet flower, that thou hast won?
Oh, is it love or death
That breathes from this thy breath,
That kindles in thine eye?”
Then won I for reply,
“I have made sweet mine hour;
As dies the flower, I die,
I lived as lives the flower.”