WILD FLOWEKS. 
42 
Mild as the azure of thine eyes, 
Soft as the halo-heam above, 
In tender whispers still it sighs, 
Forget-me-not, my life, my love! 
There, where thy last steps turned away, 
IVet eyes shall watch the sacred spot, 
And this sweet flower he heard to say, 
Forget! ah, no ! forget-me-not! 
Yet deep its azure leaves within, 
Is seen the blighting hue oi care; 
And what that secret grief hath been, 
The drooping stem may well declare. 
The dewdrops on its leaves, are tears, 
That ask, 1 Am I so soon forgot 1 ’ 
Repeating still, amidst their fears, 
My love, my life! forget-me-not. 
