LILY. 
163 
I gather to a heavenly bower 
My Roses fair and sweet; 
I hide within my breast the flower 
That grows beside my feet.” 
UNE PENSEE. 
TOM HOOD. 
“There’s Pansies : that’s for thoughts.” —Shakspeare. 
Gay lilies on the virgin breast 
Of her who dieth young ; 
And o’er the warrior gone to rest 
Let laurel wreaths be flung ; 
But strew ye purple pansies when the old man’s knell 
is rung. 
Fair types those lily flowers are 
Of her for whom ye weep ; 
Whom earnest prayer and loving care 
Could not among us keep ; 
But strew ye purple pansies when the old man falls 
asleep ! 
Well fitting for the warrior dead 
The laurels he has won— 
Proof of the brave life he has led, 
The dangers he has run ; 
But strew ye purple pansies when the old man’s war is 
done! 
