BEAUTY FOR ASHES.
67
White butterflies flit shining in the sun,—
Red roses burst to bloom upon the tree,—
Birds call to birds till the glad day is done,
The day of beauty thou hast brought to me.
Red roses burst to bloom upon the tree,—
Birds call to birds till the glad day is done,
The day of beauty thou hast brought to me.
Shall I forget, O gentle heart and true,
How thy fair dawn has risen on my night,—
Turned dark to day, all golden through and through,—
From soil of grief won bloom of new delight?
How thy fair dawn has risen on my night,—
Turned dark to day, all golden through and through,—
From soil of grief won bloom of new delight?
