FRAGMENTS. Fourth Series.
10
Literary Gazette, 24th January, 1824, Page 58
SONG.
Take back your wreath, your sunny wreath,
'Tis mockery to give it me!
The summer’s bloom, the summer's breath
Are not what should be offered me.
For though those flowers may fade and fall,
How very sweet their life has been!
And fragrant still the coronal,
Though dead the blush and sear the green.
They are perhaps an offering
To scatter on my funeral stone;
For flowers are not made for the Spring,
Which only blight and blast has known.
But take some veil in darkness wove.
And fling its shadow o'er my brow,
It will be like the cloud which love
Has thrown around my past and now!—L. E. L.
