16 VOICE OP FLOWERS. 



Then, as the ebbing pulse declin d, 



Forth from her sacred nook, 

 With swimming eye, and trembling hand, 



Her bridal wreath she took, 



And bound its wither d floral bells 



Around her temples pale, 

 And faintly to her maidens spake 



For breath began to fail : 



&quot; Should the last death-pang shake me sore, 

 (For on they come with power,) 



Press closer in my ice-cold hand 

 My husband s token-flower; 



And rear the turf-mound broad and high 



To span my lonely grave, 

 That nought may sever from my locks 



The gift of love he gave 



So, when the dance of souls goes forth 



Athwart the starry plain, 

 He 11 know me by his chosen flower, 



And I 11 be his again.&quot; 



