WILD FLOWERS. 
57 
Mouldering in cold decay 
Bring flowers, fresh flowers, that I may cheer my 
heart 
With pleasant images, ere I depart, 
To tread death’s darksome way. 
Bring fruits, rich fruits, that blush on every bough 
Bending above the traveller’s weary brow 
And wooing him to taste: 
Bring fruits,—methinks I never knew how sweet 
The joys that every day our senses greet, 
Till now, in life’s swift waste. 
Bring fruits, rich fruits; earth’s fairest gifts are 
vain 
To minister relief to the dull pain 
That weighs upon my heart; 
Yet bring me fruits and flowers,—they still have 
power 
To cheer, if not prolong, life’s little hour; 
Bring flowers ere I depart. 
