FLOWERS.
Flowers are the bright remembrancers of youth:
They waft back with their bland and odorous breath
The joyous hours that only young life knows,
Ere we have learned that this fair earth hides graves.
They bring the cheek that’s mouldering in the dust
Again before us, tinged with health’s own rose;
They bring the voices we shall hear no more,
Whose tones were sweetest music to our ears;
They bring the hopes that faded one by one,
Till nought was left to light our path but faith,
That we too, like the flowers, should spring to life,
But not, like them again, e’er fade or die.