He saw the myriad blooming plants
That mark the hallowed morn;
He thought upon a lowly mound
In a far land, forlorn,
Where yearning love would never come
To place or flower or leaf,
Where lonely love would never bring
Its heartache for relief.
When, lo! athwart his musings, came
Again that strange appeal
Which he had listened to before,—
Without the power to feel;
And putting by a vain regret,—
His fallen foe to save,—
"Ah, love!" he sighed, "lost love!—I lay
This blossom on thy grave!"
- In the 1905 reprint edition of this poem, line 6 reads, "With token fond, though brief" instead of "To place or flower or leaf" as rendered in the 1904 edition.