HER FLOWERS
"Nay, nay," she whispered low,
"I will not have these buds of folded snow,
Nor yet the pallid bloom
Of the chill tuberose, heavy with perfume,
Nor lilies waxen white,
To go with her into the grave's dark night.
"I will not have these buds of folded snow,
Nor yet the pallid bloom
Of the chill tuberose, heavy with perfume,
Nor lilies waxen white,
To go with her into the grave's dark night.
"But now that she is dead
Bring ye the royal roses blushing red,
Roses that on her breast
All summer long, by these pale hands caressed,
Have lain in happy calm,
Breathing their lives away in bloom and balm!"
Bring ye the royal roses blushing red,
Roses that on her breast
All summer long, by these pale hands caressed,
Have lain in happy calm,
Breathing their lives away in bloom and balm!"
Roses for all the joy
Of perfect hours when life had no alloy;
When hope was glad and gay,
And young Love sang his blissful roundelay;
And to her eager eyes
Each new day oped the gates of Paradise.
Of perfect hours when life had no alloy;
When hope was glad and gay,
And young Love sang his blissful roundelay;
And to her eager eyes
Each new day oped the gates of Paradise.
But, for that she hath wept,
And over buried hopes long vigil kept,
Bring mystic passion-flowers,
To tell the tale of sacrificial hours
When, lifting up her cross,
She bore it bravely on through pain and loss!
And over buried hopes long vigil kept,
Bring mystic passion-flowers,
To tell the tale of sacrificial hours
When, lifting up her cross,
She bore it bravely on through pain and loss!
