34 MEADOW-SWEET. 



In days when birds began to sing, 



Because they found the earth was fair; 



In halcyon days of happy Spring, 

 None aught but us our joys to share. 



But pleasure past is present pain ; 



The petals of the rose are shed ; 

 The piercing thorns alone remain ; 



I live to sorrow for the dead. 



Anonymous. 



