WHERE GROW THE FLOWERS? 
Like the love-knots of the heart, 
Which not death itself can part ; 
In the woods, and in the vales, 
Lending odour to the gales ; 
Heaven’s love on earth to show,— 
Everywhere the flowers grow ! 
Where true love in sorrow weeps, 
Sad and lonely vigil keeps, 
Or, reviving now to joy, 
Tastes a spring without alloy ; 
To express a tender thought, 
‘Love within the breast hath wrought ; 
Silent utterance to find 
For the full and bursting mind ; 
Stillness of the soul to break, 
As soft breezes music wake ; 
To convey the grasp in fancy, 
Taught by love this necromancy ; 
F’en the senses to salute, 
Scent and colour rich, though mute,— 
Wheresoever Love doth go, 
There it bids the flowers grow ! 
